


For Both Are Infinite

by meganwritesbooks



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst and Humor, Episode Rewrite: s05e14 The One Where We're Trapped on TV, Fake Marriage, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Smut, Jack the Ripper cameo, Legends of Tomorrow spoilers, Multi, Pre-Season 5 finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meganwritesbooks/pseuds/meganwritesbooks
Summary: What if instead of Charlie placing the Legends in TV shows to keep them safe from her sisters, she scatters them in different time periods?John and Zari end up trapped in 1880's Victorian England, where they must work together to survive and adapt to their new identities as a wealthy married couple in London society. Zari becomes a beloved socialite who influences women with her pamphlets on female empowerment, while John is a notorious occult detective disguised as an English gentleman. As five years pass, their already budding attraction grows into so much more.
Relationships: John Constantine/Zari Tarazi, John Constantine/Zari Tomaz | Zari Tarazi
Comments: 108
Kudos: 152





	1. All This Is But A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone. I'm so excited to finally start working on this story!
> 
> I'm dedicating this fic to @ASingleWhiteDoe and @phoebemaybe, who have been my biggest cheerleaders since I started writing for this fandom. You guys are truly the best.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

**_“How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet_** **_(Act II, Scene II)_**

_John’s hands were all over her, exploring every dip and valley, mapping the soft expanse of her skin. Curious fingers stumbled upon places on her body they never dared touch before. His lips journeyed across her jaw and down the length of her neck, settling on the delicate skin of her collarbone._

_Zari doesn’t know how they reached this point in the backroom of a dingy London pub, as the outside world was overrun by the undead. One moment they were yelling about how neither of them wanted to be with each other, the next Zari found herself taking John’s face in her hands and kissing him senseless. She immediately knew it was a mistake._

_It should have stopped there. They should have abandoned this spontaneous instant of carnal passion and rejoined their friends in the next room._

_But when John’s eyes glinted devilishly before he emitted a low growl and kissed her back with a bruising amount of force, gathering her in his arms until there was no space left between them, Zari lost every ounce of her inhibition._

_Her own hands traced the planes of his lean body, feeling him shiver against her. Zari gasped and writhed beneath John’s tender touch, feeling her swelling desire burn within her. She wrapped her legs around John to press their bodies ever so closer together, making him elicit a moan that was muffled against Zari’s shoulder._

_As John began to move above her, initially steady but gradually quickening his pace, Zari clawed at his back as he brought her closer to her undoing, raking her nails against his skin. They embraced as if they were individually more precious to each other than any prize a person could cherish._

_When they both reached their release, John let out a choked groan as Zari cried out in rapture, her vision exploding with the stars of a boundless night sky._

_Then, the scene abruptly changed and Zari was no longer lost in John’s arms._

_She was curled on the dirty floor of the pub, her clothing and flesh being torn apart by zombies._

_Zari’s mouth opened to scream but no sound would escape. She vaguely heard Ava crying out Sara’s name as her beloved was devoured, the metallic thud of Nate’s steel body as he was tackled to the ground. Directly above Zari were the grotesque faces of zombies, their bloodied teeth gnashing and biting at her._

_Out of the corner of her eye, Zari saw a flash of blonde hair and the tail of a beige trench coat. She watched helplessly as John attempted to shove the zombies away from her, igniting his hands and burning as many of them as he could to a crisp. The stench of cooked flesh flooded Zari’s nose._

_There were too many of them. It was evident from the way John’s shoulders began to sag from weariness, his overuse of magic rapidly depleting his strength. But that didn’t stop the occultist from trying to save Zari’s life._

_“Go, John,” Zari cried in desperation, meeting John’s gaze as he fell to his knees beside her, his body shielding her from the wall of zombies. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest at the sight of fear blooming on his ashen face. She weakly reached out an arm to him, as if meaning to touch him one last time. “They’re not after you. Please, save yourself.”_

_John shook his head stubbornly in spite of his body trembling from the effort of keeping the zombies at bay. “Not a chance, luv. I’m...I’m not leaving you.”_

_Zari smiled at him reassuringly, whispering, “It’s okay. You don’t have to fight anymore.”_

_Something unspoken passed between them as they locked eyes. It could have been a silent confirmation, a wordless proclamation of their fondness for each other, or a mixture of the two. But it didn’t matter anymore._

_Before John could protest again, he wavered unsteadily until his eyes rolled back in his head and he finally collapsed from exhaustion onto the floor. This allowed the zombies to trample over him to get to who they were really after._

_Unable to move or fight back, Zari was easy prey to the zombies that quickly overwhelmed her. She felt no pain as her body was torn apart limb from limb._

* * *

Zari woke up with a strangled gasp, bolting upright in bed. 

Cold sweat collected at her hairline and drenched her clothing. Her cheeks and neck were flushed, and it was difficult to ignore the heat that pooled between her legs in relation to the first portion of her dream. She clutched her heaving chest as she regained control of her breathing, her fingers toying with cotton fabric instead of the usual lace-trimmed satin nightie she wore to bed.

Zari froze, hand faltering at her chest. She peered down in bewilderment at the long-sleeved white nightgown that clung to her body.

This was only the first of many things she noticed were wrong. 

The room she was in was not her newly-adorned room aboard the Waverider or even her childhood bedroom at her parent’s house. Instead of pale pink walls and tasteful decorations, she found blue damask wallpaper detailed with shimmering gold designs and dark mahogany furniture. To Zari’s right was a round side table, where instead of her phone she found an ornate oil lamp and an unlit silver candelabra.

Around the room were other pieces of beautiful vintage furniture: a massive wardrobe with intricately-carved doors, a heavy desk cluttered with stacks of cloth-bound books, a vanity with an elegant curved mirror and a cushioned bench, and a red velvet chaise situated before a grand fireplace. 

The bed Zari laid in was lumpy and unfamiliar, the sheets and duvet scratchy against her skin. As she tried to push the covers off her, she was met with resistance. And a loud snore.

That’s when Zari discovered she was not alone. Beside her was the bare back of a sleeping man, the tattoo covering his upper arm oddly familiar.

Zari screamed and flung herself out of the bed, nearly falling flat on her face as she underestimated the distance from the floor, the noise immediately rousing the stranger. He’s so startled that he tumbled off the bed while tangled in the sheets, cursing and inadvertently flashing his bare ass at Zari before hitting the floor with a hard thud. After a moment, when the man groaned and attempted to stand, Zari seized the first weapon she could find: the silver candelabra. 

She then proceeded to hurl the hefty candlestick holder over the bed and managed to nail the man in the shoulder, knocking him back onto the floor again. 

“ _Bloody Christ!"_ he cursed loudly, his voice making Zari freeze in her tracks. She would recognize that thick English accent anywhere. 

“John?” Zari inquired, tentatively stepping forward to peer over the bed.

The unmistakable, tousled blonde head of John Constantine popped up from the other side of the bed, his unusually clean-shaven face contorted in pain as he rubbed his shoulder. “Yeah, it’s me, luv. What the hell was that for?”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Zari replied, feeling guilty as she walked around the bed to help John. As she approached him, she yelped and quickly looked away. “Oh, you are _very_ naked.”

John grinned sarcastically. “What a keen observation.” He wrapped the sheet around his waist before rising to his feet, glancing around the room with his brows furrowed in confusion. “Now, I know for a fact I wasn’t _that_ wankered last night. Where are we?”

Zari rubbed at her temples, willing herself to remember anything that could indicate how she and John ended up here, waking up together in a strange room, in a strange bed. It didn’t make sense. Weren’t they just in the pub in London with the other Legends? Where _were_ the others? Were they here too?

“I don’t know,” Zari finally answered, pacing around the room as apprehension began to set in. Her head was pounding, her memories foggy and fractured. “I mean, we were _just_ in London. I remember the zombie apocalypse, the pub, the…” She inhaled sharply, recalling the zombies storming the pub, overpowering the Legends. Her dream had already come to pass. “Oh, God. John, did we die?”

John shook his head adamantly. “Trust me, we would know if we were dead. _This_...this is something else entirely.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Zari asked.

“Same as you,” John said. “The pub, the bloody zombies, Sara dying and the others…” He swallowed before he could finish his sentence and closed his eyes. “But after that, I’m completely blanking.”

Zari suddenly felt ill. She leaned against the bedpost for support, her head spinning. “Why can’t we remember what happened to us? There’s _something_ we missed, I just don’t know what. Can’t you do some magic spell or whatever that restores memories?”

John rolled his eyes. “Magic doesn’t work like that, luv.” 

Huffing in frustration, Zari crossed the room and stood at the window. “Well, is there _anything_ you can do, _magic man?_ Summon a portal? Contact the Waverider?” When she opened the curtains and peeked through the glass, the view outside made Zari do a double take. She staggered back from the window. “John. You need to see this.”

Alarmed by her reaction, John secured the sheet around his hips and took her place by the window, seeing what was the matter. His brows raised almost comically in surprise, his mouth falling open. 

Instead of the congested queue of cars and buses one would typically see in the busy streets of London, the street below was lined with horse-drawn carriages. The London skyline was nowhere to be seen, replaced by chimney smoke and smog. The men and women parading the streets were dressed in fine suits and dresses. 

Somehow, someway, Zari and John were no longer in the year 2020.

“Well, I can’t say I was expecting _that,_ ” John said, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he opened the window a crack, letting in a cloud of polluted air. He immediately shut it again. “Ah. Smells like Victorian London.”

Meanwhile, Zari was pretty sure she was having a panic attack. The room seemed to grow stuffier, the collar of her nightgown tightening at her throat. “This cannot be happening. I cannot be stuck in another time period with _John freaking Constantine._ ” She paused when she noticed John was staring at her, his eyes not-so-subtly scanning up and down her body. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

John instantly averted his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck while gesturing blindly at Zari with his other hand. “Sorry, uh...your gown is a bit... _sheer.”_

Zari felt her cheeks redden and her nostrils flare. “Then, _don’t look!”_ she growled, picking up a pillow and launching it directly at John’s face. He barely managed to dodge it while grasping the sheet that covered his front. Embarrassed and incensed, Zari searched the room and found a floral silk robe draped over the back of a chair. She slipped it on and tied the belt tightly at her waist.

“I’m sorry, but at least you aren’t bloody arse naked!” John countered, huffing indignantly. He rubbed a hand across his chin, his face twisting in horror as he felt the absence of his beard. Additionally, in the sunlight Zari could see his distinctive bleached blonde hair was faded to a more natural color. “Oh, come on. I feel _violated._ ”

Zari gaped at him incredulously. “ _You_ feel violated? I woke up in a random bed with a naked man and I don’t remember why!” Suddenly, she had a terrible thought and groaned. “Oh God, did we sleep together?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” John said pointedly, shrugging. He cringed and cleared his throat when Zari shot him a fierce glare that would scare any man, even the likes of Mick Rory. “Right. Not the point.”

Zari rolled her eyes and brushed past John to retrieve the candelabra she had thrown at him earlier from the floor. He backed away from her nervously, as if he was afraid she might whack him with it. “Relax, I’m not going to hit you,” Zari said, watching John’s shoulders slacken. “Get dressed. We’re going to figure out what the hell is going on.”

John made no effort to protest and listened to Zari’s command, locating the first item of clothing he could find from the wardrobe and throwing it on over his head. Zari tried not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked wearing a long, puffy nightshirt that nearly reached his knees. John glowered at Zari warningly, which only made it more difficult for her to stifle a grin. 

It was probably a terrible idea to leave the room without discussing a plan first, but both Zari and John shared the same tendency to jump headfirst into situations without thinking them through. 

Armed with a candelabra, the air totem she thankfully still wore around her wrist, and her sheer determination to return to the 21st century as soon as possible, Zari opened the door to the room, glancing in both directions before stepping out. John followed closely behind, his body tensed and ready for combat as she led them through a dim, candle lit hallway toward whatever awaited them.


	2. To Take A New Name

**_“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose_ **

**_By any other word would smell as sweet.”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ **

“No offense, but how’s a fancy candlestick supposed to be an effective weapon?” 

John bumped into Zari when she paused in the middle of the darkened corridor, one hand propped on her hip while the other brandished the candelabra in an iron grip. In the candlelight flickering from the sconces along the walls, John could see mischief twinkling in her eyes. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“You could’ve killed me, you know,” John chided her in spite of the smirk at the corner of his mouth and the teasing lilt to his voice. He tried not to wince every time he moved his shoulder, which still hurt like absolute shite. 

Zari rolled her eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

Before John could fire back, Zari continued down the hallway without him, every exaggerated sway of her hips distracting him from the task at hand. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore their back-and-forth flirtations, which have only progressed in recent weeks. Ever since their apocalyptic tryst in London, the tension between them was so palpable that it could probably catch fire. 

_This woman will ruin me_ , John thought, shaking his head and hurrying after Zari.

In all honesty, waking up in a different time period with someone he recently hooked up with and not remembering how they got here didn’t come _close_ to topping the list of weird things that have happened in John’s lifetime. He’s dealt with nearly every type of demon in existence, been possessed by a demon, slept with some rather questionable beings, joined a band of time-traveling misfits, fought a bloodthirsty unicorn at Woodstock, drank the juiced remains of Rasputin…

If anything, being stranded in another time period _at_ _least_ once was essentially a rite of passage as a Legend. 

So, really, John didn’t have a reason to panic just yet. 

Together, he and Zari crept down the hall at a careful pace, freezing each time the floorboards creaked or the shadows cast by the candlelight danced suspiciously across every surface. Something about this Victorian home made John’s skin crawl. He had experience with this sort of thing; he lived in a haunted mansion. 

First of all, John never trusted a drafty house. It was practically impossible to distinguish an innocent breeze or the touch of a spirit. Plus, he was really starting to regret not putting on trousers—or even underwear—before leaving the room. The combination of the cold floor against John’s bare feet and the occasional sweep of cool air that brushed past his unclad legs and up his thin nightshirt was extremely unpleasant. 

What was so unsettling about this particular house was how _familiar_ parts of it felt. John and Zari took great care in peeking through each open door of the rooms they passed, all of which were lacking signs of life. The only “beings” that accompanied them were the eerily detailed portraits of strangers lining the walls, their lifeless eyes seemingly following their every step.

Granted, it was likely a good thing the house appeared to be empty except for the two of them. It did nothing to diminish John’s growing agitation, though. 

Perhaps most unnerving of all, John realized with a start, was the fact that he somehow already _knew_ what each room would contain before they walked past it. 

From the very moment John was jolted awake by Zari’s shrill shriek and he discovered he was not in his own time anymore, an incessant pain started gnawing at his head. His mind felt like it was splitting in two, his memories warring with one another and battling for dominance. Of course he knew he was John Constantine, expert magician wreathed in a cycle of sorcery and shame, and self-proclaimed bastard. 

But another voice in his head was simultaneously insisting that he was someone else. 

_You are John Constantine. You were born on 10 May, 1850. You are a notorious occult detective disguised as an English gentleman._ _You are happily married to..._

Okay. _That_ was a reason to panic. 

John gasped and staggered against the wall, his state of equilibrium suddenly knocked off its axis. He felt Zari rush to his side, grasping his forearms and shaking him gently.

“John?” Zari’s voice was muffled in John’s ears. Ice cold hands touched his jaw, turning his head slightly to face her. Her eyes were wide in alarm. “John, can you hear me?”

John released a shaky breath when his vision focused and his sense of stability returned, still clutching Zari’s arm for support. “Yeah, luv. I think I blacked out there for a tick.”

“What the hell happened?” Zari asked, her concern momentarily filling John’s chest with pleasurable warmth. “You looked like something terrible dawned on you. What’s wrong?”

Unsure if he should tell Zari about his conflicting set of memories, John ultimately decided to keep this peculiarity to himself. For now. “It’s nothing. Must be disoriented from waking up in a different time period, is all.” 

Zari gave him a disbelieving scowl, but otherwise didn’t question him further. Admittedly relieved, John told himself she had more pressing things to worry about than his stubbornness. 

They arrived at a steep set of stairs leading down to the first level, where more light emitted from below. Zari placed a finger against her lips and gave John a pointed look, indicating they should listen for any noise before proceeding. The staircase was illuminated by gaslight fixtures in place of candlelight, the wall adorned with vibrant impressionist paintings and gilded mirrors. John and Zari’s footsteps were softened by plush carpet as they descended toward a spacious entryway with a ticking grandfather clock, a loveseat, and a low-hanging crystal chandelier that John nearly had to duck under to pass.

The sight of the front door nearly had John bolting for the exit, but Zari seemed to read his mind and seized his arm. “You can’t leave in _that,_ ” she whispered, gesturing at John’s lack of attire. 

John didn’t necessarily have a problem strutting down the streets of Victorian London in nothing but a nightshirt barely covering his arse and risking scandalizing the public, but it was probably best not to draw attention to himself in another time period. That, and he was _majorly_ fucked if it was windy out. 

By a lucky twist of fate, John glimpsed a beige trench coat hanging from the coat rack and immediately felt his heartbeat quicken. _Could it be...?_

He was unable to stifle a grin as he shrugged on his customary trench coat, the worn fabric like a security blanket against his body. “At least _this_ beauty followed us here from the future.”

“How is it fair you have your _stupid_ trench coat that you wear literally every day, and yet my brand new extensions are gone?” Zari protested, scowling as she ran her fingers through her curtain of curls. Not only was her hair shorter, but the professional coloring and highlights were replaced by her natural raven locks. John tried to ignore how much she resembled her previous incarnation.

John smirked and popped the collar of his coat. “I enchanted this so-called _stupid_ coat to find me if I’m ever in a predicament. I suppose it transcends time and space.”

Zari glared at him. “Whatever, Doctor Who. I think I smell coffee brewing. Once I’m properly caffeinated, we’re getting out of this house. It gives me the creeps.”

In true Zari fashion, she brushed off the unknown in favor of what she wanted and spun on her heels, her hair hitting John’s face before she sauntered off down the short hallway leading toward what was presumably a kitchen. John blinked dumbly before realizing what was happening and hastened after her. Trying to keep up with Zari Tarazi was exhausting.

John expected to walk in the kitchen and find Zari helping herself to some coffee made by whoever the hell lived here, but instead she was leaning over the table with her back turned. Her posture was stiff as she clutched something made of paper, causing it to crinkle in her grasp. John approached her cautiously so as not to scare her and gently pried the newspaper from her hands, skimming the headline with raised brows.

_GHASTLY MURDER IN THE EAST-END. DREADFUL MUTILATION OF A WOMAN. CAPTURE: LEATHER APRON._

The article was dated 7 September, 1888. The good news was they now knew what year they were in. It was certainly better than knowing nothing. 

Bad news: it just _had_ to be the same year as the Jack the Ripper killings.

“Perfect timing,” John grumbled under his breath, slapping the newspaper down on the table. “Well, at least we know we’re in 1888.”

Zari smacked him on his uninjured shoulder. “How can you be so _calm_ about this?”

John threw his hands up in exasperation. “What do you want me to do, luv? Run around the house screaming? I’m just as clueless right now as you are.”

“You can create portals, right?” Zari asked. “Why don’t you just portal us back to 2020?”

John didn’t have the energy to explain to her that his magic has felt off since he woke up, so he decided to demonstrate. He closed his eyes and began muttering the summoning spell for a portal, already knowing it wouldn’t work because he didn’t feel the familiar sense of energy coursing through him whenever he performed any incantation. The full extent of John’s power felt dormant inside him, like he was being hindered by an unknown force. 

He didn’t like how vulnerable he felt without the complete use of his magic.

John growled in frustration when the portal he attempted to create immediately fizzled out instead of forming a circle. He tried a second and third time, yielding the same results. “See?” he said to Zari once he proved his point. “Portals won’t work.”

Zari stepped forward almost threateningly, but John could see the distress in her eyes through her angry facade. “Well, you better figure out another solution quick or _so help me_ , John, I will-”

John and Zari were so immersed in their bickering that neither of them noticed the older woman dressed in an apron and bonnet amble into the kitchen, so startled by their presence that she dropped the empty silver tea tray she was holding. It rattled loudly against the floor, making everyone jump at the sound.

“Oh!” the woman gasped, averting her gaze. “Apologies, milord and lady. I dinna mean to interrupt your... _morning activities._ ”

John and Zari stood motionless, gaping at the strange Scottish woman in bewilderment. _Milord and lady?_ It took John several seconds to register why the woman was so caught off guard. The scene was quite suggestive from their state of undress, disheveled hair, and close proximity...

Zari’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh God, no, we weren’t-”

The woman chuckled as she bent down to pick up the silver tray. “Dinna fash, milady,” she said warmly, grunting and holding her lower back as she straightened again. “I expect nothing less from a pair of newlyweds.” 

John made a choked noise in his throat at the same time Zari yelped, “ _What?_ ”

It was at that exact moment John caught a flash of gold on his hand. How did he not see it before? His fears were confirmed when he found a shiny wedding band glaring back at him, the metal snug around his ring finger.

Panic rising in his chest, John snatched Zari’s left hand from her side to inspect it. Before she could question him, their eyes zeroed in on the massive rose gold engagement ring with a ruby haloed by diamond clusters. When Zari’s questioning gaze met his, John knew they were thinking the same thing.

_What the hell was going on?_

“Oh, I almost forgot,” the Scotswoman added, digging in her apron pocket and producing a sealed letter for John. “This is addressed to you and Mrs. Constantine. Would you prefer coffee or tea this morning, sir?”

John ignored the woman who was evidently a housekeeper and accepted the letter, his mind repeating _Mrs. Constantine_ on a loop as he hastily tore the wax seal. He didn’t bother to see who it was from. 

Zari peered over his shoulder as he unfolded the letter, his hands beginning to tremble. “What does it say?”

The two of them eagerly scanned the contents of the letter in silence:

_Dear John and Zari,_

_If you’re both reading this, I assume you already know you’ve woken up in the year 1888. If you didn’t know, well...surprise?_

_I know what you’re probably wondering and I can explain. This was the only way I could assure you and the other Legends would be safe from my sisters. I’ve used the Loom and scattered all of you throughout time so they can never find you. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you crazy lot. You’ve become my family._

_Don’t worry about the others. They’re safe in different time periods. Hopefully not for long, though. I promise I will fix this and stop my sisters. Once I do, I will put everything back to normal. In the meantime, I need you two to sit tight, stick together, and blend in. I’ve created for you new identities and memories to make adjusting to the time period a bit easier. Your new memories will gradually come to you and merge with your current memories, so be patient and I’m sorry in advance for the headache._

_I could apologize for a thousand other things but I don’t have much time. I just want you to know I wouldn’t have done this if I had any other choice. Johnno, keep Zari safe and try not to be an arse. And Zari, be patient with Johnno. I wish you both the best. I WILL come back for you. And most of all, I hope you will forgive me._

_\- Charlie_

John dropped the letter, numbly watching it flutter to the floor. He barely moved in time to catch Zari when she swayed on her feet and fainted.


	3. For The World They Saw

**_“For stony limits cannot hold love out,_ **

**_And what love can do, that dares love attempt.”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ **

“Z?” Zari heard someone calling her name as she regained consciousness. “Zari, wake up, luv.”

Zari whined and clutched her head. The sides of her temples were throbbing and she wondered if this was what being hungover was like, akin to how she felt after John restarted her heart in the back of the fish and chips truck, which seemed to be a lifetime ago. 

Her eyes fluttered open when she felt calloused fingers brush a strand of hair away from her face. John was perched on the sofa next to where Zari lay stretched out, his gentle brown eyes gazing down at her with concern. Zari was caught off guard by the way John was looking at her and at the brief swell of affection she felt for him, pondering if this was due to her own feelings or her new persona’s feelings toward her husband.

 _Husband._

Zari lifted her left hand to her face, her heart plummeting as her predicament came crashing back to her. In any other situation she would have gladly welcomed an expensive diamond ring on her finger, but _this?_

“Oh, God, I’m not dreaming,” Zari groaned dramatically, covering her eyes with her hands. “I’m still married to _you._ ”

John chuckled and ducked his head. “I’ll try not to take offense to that.”

Zari peeked through her fingers and glared at him. This was when she noticed John had changed into proper clothes. “What in the world are you wearing?”

John resembled a true Victorian gentleman, something he was obviously unhappy about judging by his persistent scowl and rigid posture. He was positively dashing in a tailored brown jacket over a matching vest and white dress shirt, slim-fitting trousers, and a cream-colored cravat around his throat that he continuously tugged at. His trench coat was nowhere to be seen. 

“Oi! My eyes are up here,” John said as Zari shamelessly appraised his attire.

“What? It’s a good look for you,” Zari countered. She never wasted an opportunity to assess fashion. “It’s about time you wore something tailored. You could have _at least_ fixed your hair though.”

John shook his head adamantly. “That’s where I draw the line.” Then, his features softened as he regarded Zari closely. “You’re pale. Are you alright?”

Before Zari could answer, the red headed Scottish woman from earlier entered the sitting room holding a decanter of wine, her entire face lighting up when she saw Zari was conscious again. 

“Milady, you’re awake!” the woman said, rushing to Zari’s side and feeling her forehead. “Ye scared the daylights out of me. Here, I brought some wine-”

“She doesn’t drink wine,” John interrupted, his thoughtfulness impressing Zari. “Would you fetch her some water?”

The Scotswoman nodded. “Right away, Mr. Constantine.”

Once she disappeared into the kitchen, John leaned closer to Zari and murmured, “Her name is Alice Duncan. Apparently she’s our housekeeper.”

“Well, that explains the outfit and her eagerness to please,” Zari replied, taking John’s arm as he silently offered to help her sit up. “Did she tell you what’s going on? Can we trust her?”

John shrugged; it was remarkable how calm he was being about all this. “She didn’t reveal anything, but she seems harmless enough. Though I will warn you, her hair is as fiery as her personality. She threatened to _give me a good skelping_ to the back of the head when I tried to swipe some gin from the cabinet.” 

Zari couldn’t help but grin at his accurate Scottish impression. “In that case, I think I like her already.”

Mrs. Duncan returned shortly carrying a large tray with a porcelain teapot, steaming cups of tea on matching saucers, a glass of water, and plates of food with silverware neatly wrapped in cloth napkins. She shrugged off John’s attempts to take the heavy tray from her, setting it down on the coffee table with ease. 

“Some water, milady,” Mrs. Duncan said, handing Zari the glass. “I also prepared your favorite chai tea should ye desire it, as well as a pot of tea for milord and some breakfast.”

Zari felt a bit guilty being waited on like this, so she made sure to express her gratitude. “This looks great,” she said, beaming kindly at the housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Duncan.”

Mrs. Duncan accepted Zari’s thanks with a pleased smile. “Of course, milady. Would ye like milk and sugar with the tea?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary-”

Zari’s words died on her lips when Mrs. Duncan waved her hands with an artful flourish, wordlessly summoning a small jug of milk and a bowl of sugar out of thin air. Zari and John watched equally stunned as the milk and sugar poured themselves into the teacups, stirred by levitating spoons. 

John narrowed his eyes with suspicion at Mrs. Duncan. “What are you?”

Mrs. Duncan winked. “You’re not the only one in this house who dabbles in magic, Mr. Constantine.” Then, as if her display of witchcraft never happened, she recomposed herself in her usual professional manner. “Anyway, will ye two be needing anything else?”

“That’ll be all,” John replied curtly, then cleared his throat. “You’re uh...dismissed.”

Their housekeeper took her permission to withdraw with a curtsy and quietly vacated the room, leaving Zari and John alone once more. Not knowing what to say, Zari downed the rest of her water while John helped himself to the breakfast Mrs. Duncan prepared, which consisted of toast and marmalade, fried eggs, and strips of bacon. Zari’s stomach rumbled at the inviting smell; she couldn’t remember the last time either of them ate. 

Still, she was wary. “Should we eat this? What if it’s poisoned?”

John had just finished his first piece of toast. “Suppose we’ll find out later, yeah? Besides, I would know if this food was poisoned. I’m 82% sure it’s not.” He tried a sip of his tea and hummed with satisfaction. “Ah, I haven’t had a proper cup of English tea in ages.”

Zari raised a brow. “82%, huh? If I die, it’s on you.”

“If I remember correctly, you _already_ died because of me and lived to tell the tale.”

Zari didn’t know how to respond. This was the first time either of them had addressed John’s daring plan to stop her heart in order for them to safely cross a horde of zombies. Zari could detect John’s obvious guilt when he brought up her death, when he was nearly unable to revive her. 

The mere memory of that night was too overwhelming to think of presently, so Zari dismissed it from her mind. At least for the time being.

As a dabbler of the dark arts, John doubtlessly had plenty of experience with poisons. Therefore, Zari chose to trust his judgement and hoped she wouldn’t regret it. To rid the metallic taste in her mouth from the water, she traded her glass for the cup of chai tea, the aromatic concoction of cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and ginger reminding her fondly of home. She closed her eyes as the spices mingled on her tongue, immediately relaxing as the beverage warmed her from the inside. 

When John suddenly dropped Charlie’s letter on the coffee table and slid it closer to her, Zari’s fingers tightened around her teacup. 

“Figured you’d want to reread it,” John said through a mouthful of bacon. “Luckily you’re sitting down this time.”

Staring at the folded piece of paper for a moment, Zari set her tea down and willed herself to open Charlie’s letter, reviewing it in greater detail as if the subject matter would be different by rereading it a second time. The Fate’s handwriting was hurried and several words were smudged or scratched out. Zari wondered if they were simply spelling errors or things Charlie started to write but decided against. 

After poring over the letter several more times, Zari sighed and handed it back to John, who tucked it away inside his jacket pocket. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why did Charlie think this was a good idea? She can’t fight her sisters by herself.”

“Well, she’s bloody well gonna try,” John replied after another sip of tea. “I’ve known Charlie long enough to know she’ll go to hell and back to protect those she cares about. If she was willing to use the Loom to send her friends to an uncertain fate for their own protection, that means she’s motivated to stop her sisters once and for all.”

Zari didn’t want to accept this. “But what if they kill her? Then she won’t be able to come back for us.”

“Nah, I have faith in Charlie. She’s an immortal Greek deity, remember?” Noticing Zari’s agitation, John sighed. “But worst case scenario...I’ll find another way for us to get back.”

“Without a portal?” 

“Something important I’ve learned through practicing magic is the old saying, _if there’s a will, there’s a way._ ”

Zari groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Great. We’re relying on a Fate who may or may not save us and your willpower.”

“ _Hey._ ” John placed a hand on Zari’s knee, causing her to look up at him. She tried to ignore how warm his touch was through the thin fabric of her robe and nightgown. “C’mon, we’ve been in worse conundrums than this. Our best plan of action right now is what Charlie instructed: sit tight, stick together, and blend in. Soon enough, she’ll bring us home and that precious smartphone of yours will be back in your hands in no time.”

When John’s hand returned to his lap, Zari felt the loss of heat against her knee and despised how much she wanted him to touch her again.

Of course Zari knew John had a point; they _should_ remain sensible about this. But that didn’t mean she should grant him the satisfaction of being right. “Optimism doesn’t suit you. And since when do you follow instructions?”

“I don’t,” John retorted. “But until I suss out our time travel dilemma, I’m going with Charlie’s plan because it’s all we’ve got.”

 _Why was he acting like this?_ Zari thought. The John Constantine she thought she knew would never _sit tight_ and wait for someone to come to his rescue. The stubborn warlock ought to be stopping at nothing to seek a solution. How could he sit back and expect this situation to fix itself?

Zari considered herself an expert at reading people. John was either freaking out on the inside but was able to maintain a composed facade, or he was in such a state of shock that he was completely numb.

“Right. We’ll see how long that lasts until you start going stir-crazy.” Zari sampled a few more bites from her breakfast and drained what was left of her tea before she stood, smoothing the wrinkles of her nightgown. “I suppose I should pretend everything is normal and get dressed. We may be in another time period, but I still intend to follow some semblance of my beauty routine.”

As if she were listening on the other side of the door, Mrs. Duncan reentered the sitting room and announced, “I’ve run a bath for ye, milady.”

Zari nearly melted at the thought of sitting in a warm bath, soothing the knots of tension from her shoulders and back. “Oh, that sounds _perfect_ -”

Mrs. Duncan continued, “I should also remind ye that ye have tea in the parlor with your ladies from book club at noon.”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Zari asked, panicking. Normally she would relish partaking in any kind of social gathering, but today was _not_ ideal. She immediately looked for assistance from John, who took a long sip of tea to hide his face.

 _Stick together?_ Zari mouthed to him when Mrs. Duncan wasn’t looking.

John gave her a cheeky grin, as if to say, _You’re on your own with that one, luv._

Zari gaped at him. _Useless!_

Unaware of their wordless exchange using widened eyes and exaggerated facial expressions, Mrs. Duncan took hold of Zari’s arm and gently urged her along. “Milady, come along before the water gets cold. We have much to do…”

Zari halfway listened as the housekeeper prattled on about dresses and hairstyle options, plus something about their maid being absent for the third time that week, much to Mrs. Duncan’s annoyance, while simultaneously tugging her toward the stairs. 

The whole time Zari pleaded with John with her eyes to find some way to thwart her unexpected afternoon plans, to which he gave an assured nod.

* * *

Before John could think he was out of the woods, Mrs. Duncan poked her head back in the sitting room and said, “Milord, I meant to tell ye that one of the neighbors stopped by earlier. Says the demon is back in their cellar again.”

While Mrs. Duncan didn’t explicitly mention who this unfortunate neighbor was, John somehow knew exactly who she was talking about.

As soon as the housekeeper disappeared upstairs after Zari, John made an immediate beeline for the liquor cabinet in the kitchen. 

A healthy breakfast with a strong cuppa English tea was fine and dandy, but it did nothing to quell the immense weight on John’s shoulders. Gin was a much stronger remedy. 

John had long since developed a knack for remaining unworried in the face of danger as a defense mechanism. In this particular case, he knew he couldn’t reveal how stressed he actually was. First of all, he couldn’t afford to worry Zari because that wouldn’t do either of them any good. 

But also, as much as John didn’t want to admit it, his damned pride wouldn’t let him stop feigning the brave hero.

John had been let down enough times to know not to trust someone’s word. Truthfully, he wasn’t very confident Charlie would come to their aid anytime soon, perhaps not at all. The odds were too stacked against her.

Which meant since Zari didn’t possess knowledge of magic and interdimensional time travel, it was up to John to fathom how to get them back to 2020 if, or when, Charlie’s plan went awry. 

Delving through the first incantations off the top of his head from his mental catalogue of spells and rituals that could potentially help them was enough for John’s splitting headache to return. 

As John sat at the kitchen table and downed nearly half the bottle of gin, ignoring how the liquor burned his throat, his head spun as a torrent of contradicting memories came crashing into his mind. An entire new identity took refuge alongside his current consciousness. 

While both were called John Constantine, they were not the same man. They belonged to opposite time periods, shared separate memories and experiences, and were motivated by conflicting goals. And yet both men were similar in character, their passion for the occult, and who they cared for. 

Perhaps they were more alike than different.

Overcome by a sense of losing oneself, John searched the inside of the bottle clutched in his hands as if it contained all the answers.

* * *

Zari closed her eyes as she sat half-submerged in the tub, the warm rose-scented bathwater flooding her senses. All the while, she was inundated by two sets of very distinct memories.

_Zari Tarazi, social media darling, fashion extraordinaire, and entrepreneur. Known as Dragon Girl. Your life changed forever when Behrad brought you aboard the Waverider, where you joined a band of time-traveling misfits called the Legends._

_No_ , another voice told her. _You are Zari Constantine, a beloved socialite and heiress to your family’s fortune. You immigrated to England from Persia to marry an Englishman you fell in love with named John Constantine against your family’s wishes. You are a devoted wife who seeks to break Victorian tradition through running your own cosmetics business that rivals other unsanitary makeup products, and you write influential pamphlets on female empowerment and beauty standards._

Zari couldn’t help but be impressed by her alternate self. Victorian Zari was kind of a badass.

Of course she was no stranger to having another persona from a different timeline. She still felt some lingering insecurity over not meeting the same standards as the alleged _original_ Zari. Not that anyone needed to know that, though.

Zari was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the bathwater had gotten cold. Loath to face the day ahead of her, she slowly climbed out of the tub, gasping at the cold tiles on her feet and the biting air against her wet skin. When the door to the tiny bathroom flew open, Zari shrieked and quickly covered herself with her robe. 

Thankfully it was only Mrs. Duncan, but Zari still didn’t appreciate a stranger barging in her while naked. “Apologies, milady,” the housekeeper said, unperturbed by Zari’s nudity. “I thought ye would be decent by now. I’ve come to help ye get dressed.”

Shrugging her robe on, Zari watched as Mrs. Duncan laid out several items of clothing on the dressing table. Her eyes were drawn to a deep blue dress, her fingers itching to trace the satin fabric and silver buttons lining the front.

“It’s lovely, is it not?” Mrs. Duncan said, noticing her admiration of the dress. She handed Zari a pair of bloomers and a silk chemise, gesturing for her to disrobe and put them on. 

Zari awkwardly obliged, then allowed Mrs. Duncan to tightly lace her corset. She clutched the edge of the sink as Mrs. Duncan worked the laces from bottom to top, gradually forcing Zari’s posture upright. Zari was breathless by the time she finished, her rib cage and breasts squeezed painfully inside the tortuous garment. 

After slipping on a layer of petticoats and white stockings secured by garters, Mrs. Duncan held Zari’s hand while she stepped into her dress. The tailored bustle silhouette had a slim bodice and a voluminous skirt that accentuated Zari’s backside. The sleeves were tight down the length of her arms and the neckline was buttoned to her throat. 

By the time the ensemble was complete, Zari was exhausted but thankful for the additional layers protecting her from the cold. Once Mrs. Duncan gave Zari a quick glance over and nodded her approval, she led her by the arm and brought her into the bedroom, sitting her down before the vanity to brush the tangles from her hair. Zari could tell Mrs. Duncan wasn’t very experienced with styling and offered to fix it herself.

“Thank ye, milady,” Mrs. Duncan said gratefully, watching Zari expertly braid and twist her damp hair into an elaborate chignon, occasionally handing her a hairpin to secure the updo. 

Zari thought of the levitating milk and sugar from earlier and risked asking Mrs. Duncan, “Who are you, really? You must know John and I aren’t from this time. So why are _you_ here?” 

Mrs. Duncan was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on Zari’s hair. Finally, her lips formed a secretive smile and her eyes twinkled with mischief, as if she knew far more than what she was willing to divulge. “My purpose is to serve ye and Mr. Constantine, milady. Plain and simple.”

Displeased with the housekeeper’s answer, Zari tried to question her again. “But-”

“I’m sorry I cannae help with your hair. I’m afraid fashionable dresses and hairstyles are more of Miss Catherine’s expertise.”

Zari’s fingers faltered and she dropped a pin on the floor, caught off guard by how abruptly Mrs. Duncan changed the subject. “Catherine?”

“Your new handmaid,” Mrs. Duncan replied, sighing. The issue clearly troubled her. “I’m afraid the lass isn’t very reliable. She disappears often and sometimes doesn’t return for days. I dinnae ken what she’s up to.”

“Maybe she has a good reason,” Zari suggested even though she hadn’t become acquainted with Catherine yet, putting on a pair of simple diamond earrings Mrs. Duncan handed to her.

The housekeeper grunted in response, as if she didn’t believe this. Then, she grabbed a crystal jar sitting next to other cosmetic products on the vanity and unscrewed the lid, revealing a lavender-scented white powder and a swansdown puff. “Would ye like powder today, miss?”

Zari realized Mrs. Duncan was asking to powder her face to lighten her complexion and immediately refused, shaking her head. “Just a bit of rouge to add some color to my cheeks and lips will suffice.”

Nodding, Mrs. Duncan retrieved another container and dipped a small brush into the waxy red pigment, dabbing a bit on Zari’s cheeks and lips. The result was a flattering, pinkish lip and cheek tint that complimented Zari’s skin tone. “Much better without powder,” she praised, allowing Zari to observe her finished look in the mirror. “I always thought ye had the bonniest complexion of all the ladies in London. Some women paint their faces so much they resemble wee ghosts walking the streets.”

Zari laughed at the comparison. “Thank you,” she said, genuinely flattered. “I feel beautiful.”

“You’re a sight to behold, that’s for certain.” Then, Mrs. Duncan winked and whispered, “I reckon Mr. Constantine willnae be able to tear his gaze away from ye.”

Zari felt herself blush darker than the rouge on her cheeks. “Uh...thanks?”

Glancing at herself in the mirror once more, barely recognizing the woman that stared back at her, Zari couldn’t help but wonder what a certain someone would think of her appearance.

* * *

The longer John paced in the foyer waiting for Zari to come back downstairs, the more he was tempted to rifle through the secret compartment of his trench coat where he hid a pack of cigarettes and sneak outside for a smoke. 

_Seriously,_ what was taking so long? The hair?

John was half-tipsy on gin, but this didn’t diminish his desire to get out of the house. He was suffocating inside these walls, choked by the cravat around his neck that pressed uncomfortably against his Adam’s apple. What the hell was a cravat, anyway? 

What John needed was a long walk to clear his head and make sense of the influx of memories attacking his brain. And he was damn well going to escape this house without nosy Mrs. Duncan noticing, one way or another. 

John’s musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the staircase. When he looked up, he felt the wind get knocked out of him. 

His eyes followed Zari as she glided down the stairs with ease, her gloved hand tracing the length of the handrail. She walked as if she was born a distinguished Victorian lady, navigating the steps effortlessly as the fabric of her billowing blue skirt whispered around her feet. Despite the conservative style of the dress, the way it hugged Zari’s body like a glove was incredibly enticing…

He didn’t realize his jaw had fallen slack until Zari was standing right before him, her painted lips curved in amusement. “See something you like?” she teased.

John mentally cursed himself as he snapped out of his trance, schooling his features into his characteristic smirk while scanning Zari up and down. “I never shy away from observing beauty, luv.”

Zari bit her lip, the action drawing John’s attention to her mouth. “Okay, that was really cheesy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you're losing your game, John.”

“Oh yeah? Well-” John started to say something that would surely have Zari flushing underneath that high neckline of hers when Mrs. Duncan came bounding down the stairs, murmuring something in what sounded like Gaelic under her breath.

“Milady, would ye prefer tea with your ladies in the parlor or out in the garden?” she asked Zari, who looked to John again for aid. 

Always quick on his feet, John blurted out, “About that. Slight change of plans. My lovely _wife_ and I decided to take a pleasant afternoon stroll.” To emphasize his point, he wrapped an arm around Zari’s waist and pulled her against him.

Mrs. Duncan gave him a puzzled look. “But what about milady’s book club?”

“Tell my ladies I’m postposting our tea,” Zari replied as she placed a hand on John’s chest, easily following along with his performance. “I would very much like to spend some time with my... _husband_.”

“But milady-”

“And please, call me Zari. Milady makes me feel old.”

Before Mrs. Duncan could finish protesting, John and Zari were out the door hand-in-hand.  
  



	4. With Much Cherishing

**_“O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ **

Once they were far enough from the house, John slowed his pace and disentangled his fingers from Zari’s, finally allowing her to catch her breath. Realizing what they had just done, Zari exchanged a knowing glance with John and dissolved in a fit of giggles. 

“Are we seriously running away from our responsibilities?” Zari asked, shaking her head in disbelief at their situation. Could this day turn into _more_ of a disaster? 

John snickered, slurring his words more than usual. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

Zari caught a whiff of liquor on his breath and narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you drunk? Is now really the best time?”

“Luv, now is the _best_ time to get drunk.”

Walking side-by-side with their arms threaded together, Zari was so busy trying to prevent John from stumbling into carriage traffic that she initially wasn’t able to process the bustle of activity that was Victorian London. All around them was a sea of couples dressed in finery also partaking in afternoon strolls, the ladies flaunting a motley of dark-colored day dresses made in rich fabrics while the gentlemen sported tailored suits and top hats. The continuous clomp of horse hooves and the rattle of carriages and wagons against the cobblestones was deafening as each one clattered by. 

_Seems like we live in a very active neighborhood_ , Zari thought. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Constantine,” said a passing gentleman with a bushy mustache, tipping his hat to John.

John didn’t have a chance to respond, his reaction time delayed. This occurred several more times; John grew increasingly confused as random passersby greeted him as though they were old friends. He was thanked for his heroic deeds, everything from simple paranormal cleansings of people’s homes to banishing a demon from a baby’s nursery. 

John Constantine was clearly revered not only as a respectable gentleman but as some sort of saint, like how people viewed doctors. It was a laughable notion, really.

“Someone’s popular,” Zari commented, concealing her jealousy. She hated the idea of being viewed as nothing more than John Constantine's _lovely wife._

John was visibly uncomfortable from all the unwarranted attention. “Something’s downright wrong with this reality,” he grumbled.

Zari barked out an astonished laugh. “ _Now_ you notice? You’re starting to freak out because people see you as something other than a bastard?”

“Aye,” John replied, grimacing as if he was sickened by being known as a decent person. “I’ll have you know, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Not anymore,” Zari told him, nudging his shoulder. “Congratulations, people here actually like you. Welcome to the club.”

John shuddered. “You were right. This _is_ a nightmare.”

The two of them swerved through a gathering crowd to pass a line of market stalls selling everything from baked goods to useless trinkets. The market emitted a flurry of inviting scents such as fresh bread, exotic spices, and perfumed soaps. Zari paused briefly before a flower display to let her fingers dance across the soft petals of a bouquet of orange blossoms. 

“Orange blossoms for the pretty lady?” the elderly florist behind the display asked, indicating Zari’s wedding ring with a knowing smile. “They are considered a harbinger of a healthy marriage and fertility, you know.”

Zari felt herself redden in mortification, hiding her left hand within the folds of her dress and escaping the nosy florist as quickly as she could. Luckily, John did not witness this encounter. 

Instead, he stood well away from the throng of patrons with a cigarette dangling from his lips, attempting to ignite the end with a flicker of his Zippo lighter, which definitely hadn’t been invented yet. 

Zari immediately stomped over and snatched the cigarette from John’s mouth, tossing it onto the street where it was shortly squashed by a carriage wheel. She then took the Zippo lighter and stuffed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“If you wanted to feel me up, all you needed to do was ask,” John remarked, offering a sinful wink. 

Zari rolled her eyes, disregarding the strange feeling bubbling deep in her gut as John flirted with her. _He’s intoxicated_ , she told herself. _Of course he doesn’t really mean it_. 

The two of them fell into a comfortable period of silence as they continued down the sidewalk with no destination in mind. Strangely, Zari knew exactly where to go, the location of every business, each street name and shortcut, and which alleyways to avoid. She was filled with a sense of familiarity as they passed her favorite dressmakers, a pub John often frequented, and a confectionery that sold Persian sweets. 

Nothing along these sidewalks should be recognizable. And yet something was telling her this was just as much her home as the city she grew up in. 

The longer they walked, the more Zari felt the awkward tension forming between them. The hand that wasn’t tucked in the crease of John’s elbow dangled restlessly without the accustomed weight of her smartphone. It was difficult to ignore how John absentmindedly rubbed Zari’s linked arm with his thumb, which she felt through the tight sleeve of her dress. His cheeks were flushed from both intoxication and the wind, his hip occasionally bumping into hers as he gradually sobered. Zari was secretly thrilled each time John’s body made contact with hers. 

When they turned the corner onto a new stretch of sidewalk, Zari recoiled at a foul odor. “God, what is that _smell?"_

“That would be the stench of piss and the Thames,” John replied, chuckling dryly. “And people like to romanticize the Victorian era.”

Zari grimaced and untangled her arm from John’s to pinch her nose until the stink dissipated enough to bear it, wishing she had access to the orange blossoms she admired earlier to mask the smell. “Home sweet home,” she muttered.

It soon became evident that neither of them wanted to be the first to broach the subject of their surprise nuptials. Zari’s wedding ring seemed to glow like a beacon on her finger, impossible to tear her gaze from. Each time she inspected the ring, she scrutinized her un-manicured nails with disdain. 

She was also horrified to discover that when she attempted to pry the ring off, it wouldn’t budge. “John,” she said, her voice high and panicky. “Do me a favor and try to take your ring off.”

“What? Ready to divorce me already?” John teased, laughing at his own joke while doing what Zari asked. His smile faltered when he too was unable to remove his wedding band, grunting with effort as he pulled harder, but to no avail. “Blimey, the ruddy thing is stuck. For all we know, the rings were enchanted by that harpy of a housekeeper.”

“I thought you said Mrs. Duncan seemed harmless?” Zari asked.

“Well, that was until she started performing magic the way she was doing,” John explained, his hands flying everywhere as he went on a small tangent. “You don’t cast spells like that so effortlessly from simply learning. One would need to possess magic within them. I’m telling you, there’s something amiss about that woman.”

Zari agreed with the magic part; Mrs. Duncan was certainly no amateur witch. But she didn’t know if she quite believed the housekeeper was sinister in any way. “Now you just sound paranoid.”

“Says the one who thought our breakfast was poisoned,” John countered.

Zari scoffed. “That was a totally rational thing to worry about!”

John matched her defensive tone. “And our alleged housekeeper/witch who we know _nothing_ about isn’t?”

Zari ignored him and became distracted by her glittering wedding ring again. “Things could be worse. I could have a totally hideous ring permanently stuck on my finger. Your alter ego must be _loaded._ ”

“I think he is,” John replied, grinning. “Turns out, London is a hotspot for demon activity. The services of _John Constantine: Master Occult Detective_ are required often.”

Somehow, they had settled into a playful exchange of banter that Zari found she didn’t mind. “This _Mr. Constantine_ sounds intriguing. Tell me more.”

A roguish glint appeared in John’s eyes as he caught on to their game. “Aye, don’t let this man fool you. He may be a posh gentleman in the eyes of high society but really he’s an outright sod. Dabbles in dark magic and demons and such. A nasty piece of work, he is.”

Zari gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “But what’s a refined woman such as myself doing married to a man like _that?_ ”

“Oh, this is where it gets interesting,” John said, his voice dropping dramatically. He gestured for Zari to lean closer, as if his story wasn’t suitable for innocent ears. “In comes this rich and beautiful heiress from Persia seeking an equally wealthy husband. Of course Mr. Constantine knows he’s unbefitting of her station, but what does the bastard do anyway? He seduces her.”

“That fiend!” Zari exclaimed. Unbeknownst to John, she already knew the full tale of the lovers, or rather their _alternate selves_ , word for word. But it was much more exciting to hear from his lips. 

“A fiend indeed,” John agreed, obviously referring to both himself and the scoundrel in question. “But alas, the heiress couldn’t resist Mr. Constantine’s charms and fell _madly_ in love with him. Naturally, her parents forbade their union due to Mr. Constantine’s rather unorthodox career.”

“Little did her parents know, their devoted daughter had her own _unorthodox_ career path,” Zari boasted, proud of her Victorian self’s achievements. 

John smirked. “You didn’t think Mr. Constantine wanted the perfect Victorian housewife, did you?”

“Certainly not. He’s still surprised he wanted to settle down. With a _woman_ , nonetheless.”

“Right, you are,” John laughed. “Anyway, her parent’s opposition didn't stop the lovers from pursuing a secret affair. They were dreadful at hiding it, though. Could never keep their hands to themselves, you know. All of London gossiped about it.”

Zari felt a rush of warmth on her cheeks as she recalled a series of memories featuring her and John’s other selves: the heated gazes, lingering touches, stolen kisses and wandering hands in secluded corners. John sneaking through her bedroom window late at night, professing his ardent admiration of her and slowly ruining each other in the dark....

“Secret affair, huh?” Zari said a little breathily, dismissing some very unladylike images from her mind. “How _Romeo and Juliet_ of us.”

John surveyed Zari carefully, as if he knew exactly what she had been envisioning. His eyes had darkened substantially and it was impossible to guess his own thoughts. “Right. Charlie’s a crafty one, I’ll give her that. Probably got the idea from our performance in Elizabethan England.”

Zari nodded, unable to meet John’s intense stare. Things were less awkward when they were bantering back and forth. “Since we’re addressing the elephant in the room,” she said lightheartedly, holding out a hand to John. “Allow me to introduce my alter ego, Zari Constantine. Heiress, entrepreneur, and feminist badass breaking through the glass ceiling of Victorian gender roles. Otherwise known as your wife.”

John’s gaze softened considerably and the playful gleam returned as he shook her extended hand. Zari was thankful her gloves served as a barrier between their palms, or otherwise it would likely be revealed how much she was affected by John’s touch. “Pleased to meet you,” he murmured, rendering Zari breathless when he smirked and pressed a chaste kiss against her gloved knuckle. “I’m the aforementioned John Constantine, renowned expert in all things supernatural with a penchant for dark sorcery, who also happens to be your husband.”

Zari’s heart skipped a beat at the word _husband_ and knew their witty game was venturing into dangerous territory. She cleared her throat and quickly withdrew her hand from John’s grasp, focusing ahead of them. “ _Anyway._ ”

“Yes, anyway.” John put some distance between them, misinterpreting Zari’s sudden coldness for rejection. When they proceeded toward a road spilling onto a large bridge, John tilted his head in wonder. “Ah, Blackfriars Bridge. Haven’t been here since I was a youngster. What made you lead us here, luv?”

Zari was surprised by how easily she blurted out, “It’s our old meeting place. You proposed to me here.”

John nodded in earnest and smiled softly, the memory occurring to him as if it had been forgotten. “Aye. I remember it clearly now.”

It was one of Victorian Zari’s most cherished life moments. Out of all her memories, the night her forbidden love presented her with a ring at their secret rendezvous and asked her to be his underneath a canvas of stars left the biggest impression. It was as apparent and stark in Zari’s mind as her real memories. 

While logic told Zari she had never visited Blackfriars Bridge before, reaching the magnificent arch bridge struck her with a sense of sentimentality that defied reason. Five wrought iron arches spanned the length of the bridge, the piers supporting the arches decorated with intricate stone carvings of birds. The murky brown depths of the River Thames flowed below, its odor particularly putrid whenever Zari inhaled.

“Why does the river smell like shit?” Zari asked, even though she unfortunately knew the answer. She stopped near one of the pillars and leaned her arms across the railing, taking in the view. The imposing dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral was visible in the distance. 

“Because it _is_ full of shit,” John replied matter-of-factly, his arms joining Zari’s atop the railing. “The city’s sewage empties directly into the Thames. Remarkable use of innovation, innit?”

Zari’s nose wrinkled in disgust. Then, she sighed and cradled her forehead in her hands, elbows propped on the railing. “This is such a mess, John.”

She heard John exhale heavily through his nose. “It is,” he agreed, touching Zari’s arm to gain her attention. “But remember this isn’t permanent. It's like you said, things could be worse. We got bloody lucky if you ask me. Besides, you could be stuck here with someone like Gary.”

Zari shook her head and laughed, shoving John’s shoulder. “That’s so mean.”

John held up his hands in defense, sporting a cheeky grin. “Just trying to make you feel better.”

“You have,” Zari replied without thinking, the seriousness of her tone wiping the smile off John’s face. He tilted his head in curiosity as Zari gestured around them. “I can’t explain why, but being here with you, standing on this bridge...I feel like everything is going to work out. That we’re _safe,_ you know?”

“I do know,” John said, the meaningful look in his eyes letting Zari know he understood without the need for her to express it aloud. 

As John fixed his gaze on the horizon, Zari found herself studying his profile in her peripheral vision. She admired the way the wind teased the ends of his hair, how his jacket sleeves strained against his folded arms and hunched shoulders. Her eyes followed the lines of his strong jawline and brow bone, the slope of his nose, across the shadow of shaved stubble on his chin to the shape of his mouth.

Zari wasn’t aware of how she involuntarily shivered from the wind until she felt John silently wrap his jacket around her shoulders, his fingers lingering longer than they should have. His features betrayed no trace of nervousness, as if the action was the most natural thing in the world.

No, what was incredibly _natural_ was walking alongside John with their arms linked together, carrying on with their usual banter and wit. It felt so familiar, so carefree, so…

So oddly _intimate._

 _These are NOT my feelings,_ Zari desperately tried to convince herself. _The other Zari is the one who cares for John, not me._

She didn’t dare think of the L word, even though she recognized Victorian Zari felt much more toward her husband than mere affection. Zari also knew they needed to get the hell off this bridge, which was stirring something inconvenient in her heart that she couldn’t afford to entertain right now.

Interrupting John’s quiet contemplation, Zari turned to face him and all but demanded, “Show me the rest of London, magic man.”

John considered Zari’s sudden request with a raised brow and smirked. “Want to spend more time with me, eh?”

Zari was not amused. “Do you want to continue avoiding our daily tasks in peace or not?”

“There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing, luv.”


	5. Unto Wandering Eyes

**_“Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face,_ **

**_Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek_ **

**_For that which thou hast heard me speak tonight.”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ ** ****

John and Zari didn’t return to the Constantine Estate until nearly sunset, their tour of the lavish neighborhoods of London lasting much longer than either of them anticipated. Really, they both just lost track of time.

It genuinely surprised John how easy Zari’s company was. He certainly wasn’t blind to the chemistry brewing between them, so strange and so very new. Their sort of attraction confounded all reason. A social media darling and a soul damned to hell should not be drawn to each other. And yet, an unyielding force seemed to be driving them together in spite of their stark differences. 

Ironically, this directly paralleled the relationship between their Victorian personas. John was convinced the magnitude of what he was feeling toward Zari was a byproduct of this alternate reality. 

In the relatively short time they’ve known each other, John had learned Zari was not afraid to call him out on his bullshit, biting him where he was weak whenever he lashed out. She was not the type of woman to tolerate his self-deprecation and self-destructive tendencies. Even though John pretended to be indifferent, she saw right through his guise. 

Because he’s been fighting his entire life, his natural inclination was to be contentious. When it came to Zari Tarazi, he itched to fight back. After all, he’s battled far more fearsome things than her. 

Much to John’s displeasure, as soon as they walked through the front door they were greeted by their incensed Scottish housekeeper. Apparently they had nearly worried Mrs. Duncan to death, so much so that she was preparing to call the police moments before they arrived. As she berated them harshly in broken bits of Galeic and English, stressing the importance of attending to one’s daily activities and whatnot, both John and Zari had a very difficult time stifling their laughter.

Neither were guilty of the afternoon they spent together, which only seemed to infuriate Mrs. Duncan more. It was probably useful knowing for future reference that their housekeeper was an adamant stickler for the rules. 

The atmosphere at dinner was very strained, to say the least. 

That night John was so knackered after the day’s events that he decided turning in early wasn’t a bad idea. Zari offered to help Mrs. Duncan wash the dishes as an attempt to appease her, allowing John to sneak away upstairs. He didn’t have the energy for manners. 

After scrubbing his face with a wet cloth in the bathroom, the reflection that greeted John in the mirror was hardly recognizable. His hair was a more subtle shade of blonde, hanging limp from lack of product. The absence of his beard made his face feel naked, akin to how many women felt without makeup. 

But most apparent of all were the dark purplish circles hugging underneath his eyes, framed by deep lines that were evidence of his weariness. 

For once, John listened to what his body was clearly telling him: _Go to bed, you wanker._

In the bedroom, the first thing John did was remove the cursed cravat from around his neck and banished it in thin air. So, he still had _some_ access to his magic. With a snap of his fingers he was devoid of his vest and shirt, which joined the jacket he let Zari borrow earlier over on the back of a chair. He started to remove his trousers when he caught sight of his bruised shoulder in the vanity mirror. Even in the candlelight, the angry purple bruise was pronounced on his skin, spanning the peak of his shoulder to the edge of his collarbone. 

“Oh, that looks _awful,_ ” Zari commented from the doorway, startling John. He didn’t know how long she had been standing there watching him. 

John brushed off her concern with a gentle shrug of his injured shoulder, which throbbed in protest from the movement. “Looks worse than it is.”

Zari crossed the bedroom, grimacing when she got a closer glimpse at his bruised shoulder. “Again, I’m really sorry for assaulting you with a candelabra.” As she approached him, completely unperturbed by his shirtless form, John noticed her eyes lingering on his lithe physique and couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. 

“It’s alright, luv. At least we know you have wicked aim,” John joked, his breath hitching in his throat when Zari unexpectedly reached out and traced her fingers over his bruise, her featherlight touch cool against his heated flesh. His voice was strained when he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Seeing how badly I hurt you,” Zari replied softly, her hand stilling at his shoulder to meet his gaze. “Sorry. Do you want me to stop?”

John’s throat suddenly went dry; he hated that he imagined her uttering those same words to him in a _much_ different situation. “No,” he whispered before he could think better of it, becoming acutely aware of their proximity and the gentle pressure of Zari’s fingers near his rapidly beating heart.

The temperature in the room seemed to climb several degrees before Zari cleared her throat and withdrew her hand, smiling sheepishly. “All things considered, I think we successfully survived our first day in Victorian England.” 

John let out a halfhearted laugh. “First day of many, I suppose.”

Zari’s silence indicated their situation was still a touchy subject. She spun around on her heels and padded over to the bed, teetering a bit unsteadily as she stepped out of her shoes and kicked them away. John started to say something when the words abruptly died in his mouth.

He watched dumbfounded as Zari began to deftly undo the buttons of her dress, starting at her throat and working her way down her torso. She carefully slipped her arms and shoulders out of the sleeves, allowing the dress and petticoats to slide off her body and pool at her feet. Though Zari was still modestly covered by a silk chemise that ended above the knee, a corset, and a pair of white stockings, John thought there was something decidedly beguiling about the image of her dressed in Victorian undergarments. 

Still unaware of John observing her every move, Zari sat down at the foot of the bed and lifted her chemise to remove her stockings, revealing a pair of shortened bloomers and elastic garters around each upper thigh. John found himself mesmerized as she slowly rolled the stockings down her smooth, shapely legs. He immediately tried to appear busy inspecting the products on the vanity table when Zari glanced up in his direction.

“I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?” Zari asked, a challenging note perceptible in her voice. She clearly had no problem undressing in front of John, who was equally unabashed in his state of nudity. Her slender brows were arched, as if she was daring him to oppose her. 

Two could play at that game. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” John replied, flashing a rather suggestive smirk.

Here they were again, venturing closer to that point of no return. The awareness that they had recently slept together hung in the air like a heavy vapor, waiting to be acknowledged. John was determined not to be the first one to bring it up. 

He would dodge the subject for as long as he could, despite the fact that he still felt the ghost of Zari’s touch and vividly remembered the sensation of her body moving against his. 

Instead of responding, Zari rolled her eyes good-naturedly and moved to stand between John and the mirror, beginning the process of removing her earrings and unfastening the plethora of pins that somehow kept her hair in place all day. “If you don’t mind, I may need you to get the pins in the back.”

John knew touching Zari’s hair was a terrible idea, that it would only further exacerbate the rousing tension building in the room. But he stepped behind her anyway, not letting their bodies come in contact, and carefully started to ease the pins that her hands couldn’t find from the back of her hair. John desperately tried to ignore the tiny jolt he felt as their fingers accidentally brushed whenever they reached for the same pin. 

As the two of them worked together to remove all the hairpins, the room fell silent except for the soft clink of the pins being dropped into a glass jar sitting on the vanity. More of Zari’s raven locks tumbled from its updo and cascaded down her back, the silky strands slipping through John’s fingers. He subtly studied her complexion through the mirror, noting that despite how she’d washed off her makeup, her flawless brown skin glowed in the candlelight. Her dark waves framed her lovely face, the shadows in the room defining every soft angle. John’s heart stuttered when he locked eyes with Zari in the mirror.

He was at a loss for words. _God,_ she was captivating.

John plucked the last pin from Zari’s hair, resulting in a low sigh of relief that escaped her lips. “Better?”

“Much,” Zari replied, closing her eyes as she tousled her tangled hair. “I felt like a human pincushion.”

The corner of John’s mouth quirked upward. “Beauty is pain, eh?”

“Says the one who _doesn’t_ have to wear a corset.”

“I could wear one tomorrow if that suits your fancy.”

Zari let out a quiet giggle, her smile quickly faltering. Her hands fiddled restlessly with a hairpin as she said, “I’ve been meaning to thank you.” 

John hummed inquisitively. “For what?”

Zari bit her lip. “For saving my life back in 2020.”

John should have known this particular topic would eventually find its way into one of their conversations. While they had casually danced around the subject at breakfast, he was quick to notice Zari’s evident discomfort over being reminded of dying. Truthfully, John would rather forget the entire experience ever happened, unsettled by the memory of stopping Zari’s heart of his own volition, and how terrified he felt with her lifeless body cradled in his arms. 

John swallowed the knot of guilt forming in his throat, still haunted knowing he was nearly unable to revive her. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t woken up.”

Zari turned to fully face him. “But I _did_ wake up, and now I’m alive and well. See?” She demonstrated her well being with a slow spin.

“How were you so confident that I would bring you back?” John asked, tilting his head in wonder.

“Because I trust you with my life,” Zari replied without hesitation.

Zari’s response left John speechless, which seemed to be her intention. With a playful wink, she traipsed over to the window, blindly fumbling behind her for the strings of her corset. John could see Zari was visibly uncomfortable and wanted to be rid of the confining garment. He also couldn’t help but watch with amusement as she struggled to locate the laces, cursing softly under her breath in what he assumed was Persian. 

“Should I fetch Mrs. Duncan to help you?” John asked, assuming she wanted privacy for this sort of thing. 

Zari huffed out in frustration, letting her arms flop dramatically back down at her sides. “I don’t think Mrs. Duncan wants to see either of us right now. She’s still pissed.” She peeked at John sheepishly through her curtain of hair. “Could you…?”

John could think of ten different ways he could tease Zari off the top of his head, but decided against giving her a hard time. Before he could assure himself that assisting her out her corset would ultimately lead to something they would both regret, John strode across the room and tentatively reached for her laces, sweeping Zari’s hair aside and watching goosebumps form along her flesh when his fingers lightly skimmed her bare shoulders. Zari shuddered from his touch. Standing so close, the scent of rosewater on her skin was intoxicating. 

“These damn things have always confounded me,” John muttered, his fingers already struggling with the laces. This moment was a lot more sensual in his head. 

Zari let out a breathy laugh that struck John to his core. “You better get used to this,” she said, unintentionally implying that John helping unlace her corset every night would be a continual thing. She stammered adorably to correct herself. “I mean, obviously _I’m_ the one who has to get used to a corset. Not you, of course. Duh.”

John chuckled lowly, leaning close to whisper in Zari’s ear, “I know what you meant, luv.”

Once the corset was loosened enough, which may or may not have been accomplished through magic, it slinked down Zari’s body and landed at her feet with a heavy _thunk._ She immediately kicked it across the room in anger, thoroughly entertaining John. 

“I think my ribs have shifted,” Zari groaned, rubbing her sides in discomfort. 

John’s wandering eyes were automatically drawn to the outline of Zari’s body through the fabric of her chemise, which was even thinner than the nightgown she wore that morning. He wanted to bash his head against the bedpost. 

Bloody hell, what was _wrong_ with him? John knew he had to get out of this room before he said or did anything stupid. 

“Maybe I should go sleep in the guest bedroom,” John offered, despite his alternate self screaming at him in protest. “I reckon you want your space after today…”

Zari shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Actually...could you sleep in here tonight?”

John was caught off guard, having half-expected her to wholeheartedly agree with his suggestion and shove him out of the bedroom. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Zari’s eyes narrowed, her expression disbelieving. “ _John._ I think if we can sleep together once and still manage to speak to each other like mature adults, I’m pretty sure we can sleep in the same room with no problem.” Then, her gaze softened and she became almost sheepish. “Besides, I could use your company. I’ve never liked sleeping alone in an unfamiliar place.”

Of course John understood Zari’s sense of vulnerability; while this was technically their house, it still felt very foreign. Admittedly, he secretly relished in the fact that Zari didn’t want him to leave her tonight. 

Preparing for bed, Zari blew the candles out in the room while John grabbed a pillow and blanket and tossed them onto the sofa, where he decided he ought to sleep. After all, Zari didn’t specify whether she wanted them to sleep in the same bed, and John certainly didn’t want to assume anything. Zari’s brows furrowed in confusion, but otherwise she didn’t question him. 

As John spread the blanket on the sofa, he heard Zari hesitantly ask, “John, can I ask you something?” 

John held his breath, his hands faltering when he reached for his pillow. “Of course.”

Zari exhaled shakily and focused her attention on the wall above the fireplace. “Should we address what happened in London?”

 _There it was_. Sooner or later, one of them was bound to allude to their venereal encounter back in modern day London, while the city beyond the darkened backroom of the pub was quite literally crumbling around them. “What about it?”

“What do you think?” Zari asked, feigning nonchalance by toying with the strap of her chemise. “Was it a mistake?”

“I…” John sighed heavily through his nose; this was the last question he wanted to answer right now. His mind and heart were already a discombobulated jumble of thoughts and feelings, none of which he was ready to face. He needed to separate his true feelings from the ones that were forced upon him by this fabricated Victorian world, which were so much stronger and more intense than his own. 

And yet, that impassionated night full of carnal delight continued to burn brightly at the very center of John’s thoughts.

Zari searched John’s gaze from across the room until understanding finally dawned on her. “You don’t have to say anything yet,” she said, offering a sympathetic smile.

John was grateful she was granting him the mercy of keeping his opinion to himself. Right now, it was impossible to provide a definitive answer to such a complicated question. “We can talk about it when everything in _here_ –” He pointed to his head. “–makes sense again, yeah?”

Zari gave John a pointed look that told him this conversation was far from over. “Right. _After_ we deal with our identity crises. But I expect an answer eventually, John Constantine.” 

John grinned. “Do you, now?”

“Mhm,” Zari replied, smiling coquettishly as she climbed into bed, tugging the covers up to her chest. “Now, shut up and let me go to sleep. I need proper beauty rest if I’m going to survive in this era without a modern skincare routine.”

Grinning to himself, John removed his trousers and tossed them over his shoulder, leaving him in a loose pair of drawers as he flopped down on the sofa. The crackling fireplace warmed his bare skin. He laced his fingers over his chest and gazed out the window through the gauzy curtains, counting the shadows of the houses across the street until he struggled to keep his eyes open. 

The corners of John’s mouth curled upward when something occurred to him. “Zari.”

Even though the sofa was facing away from the bed and John couldn’t see Zari’s face, he imagined she was rolling her eyes. “This better be important, John.”

John thought of what Zari had asked him moments ago, realizing he already knew in his heart what to tell her but was reluctant to say so. Why bottle it up and prevent her from hearing what he needed her to know?

“Just so you know,” John said. “I don’t think it was a mistake.”

* * *

The next morning, Zari followed the sweet aroma of baking pastries to the kitchen, where a plate of fresh scones were waiting on the table. Mrs. Duncan stood at the stove, humming to herself as she prepared a pot of tea. Thankfully, the housekeeper seemed to be in good spirits compared to the previous evening. 

John was already sitting at the table munching on a scone, dressed in the same brown suit from yesterday, which really shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering the man normally wore the same outfit everyday. He clutched a cup of tea while his eyes were glued to a newspaper, the back page featuring a dramatized political cartoon of Queen Victoria and several members of Parliament. Zari knew John and Mrs. Duncan had noticed her walk in the kitchen and grew annoyed when they failed to acknowledge her presence.

“Good morning,” she announced loudly, deliberately scraping the chair located across from John against the floor. 

Mrs. Duncan whirled around and presented Zari with a cup of tea sprinkled with cinnamon on top. “Yer usual, milady.”

Zari smiled and eagerly accepted the cup of chai. “You’re in a good mood, Mrs. Duncan.”

“No she’s not,” John commented irritably from behind the newspaper. “She hid all the liquor in the house.”

Much to Zari’s shock, Mrs. Duncan delivered a swift smack to the back of John’s head with a dish rag, causing him to emit a startled yelp. “I dinnae get paid enough to serve a blithering drunk,” she snapped.

“We don’t pay you,” Zari countered, then turned to John. “Wait, do we pay her?”

John shrugged, glowering and rubbing the back of his head. “Don’t look at me. I dunno how she gets paid.”

Mrs. Duncan harrumphed and proceeded to scrub the dirty dishes in the sink, grumbling under her breath.

Mindful of Mrs. Duncan’s presence, Zari gaped at John in bewilderment and whispered, “Okay, what was _that_ interaction? Did I miss something?”

An impish glint sparked in John’s eyes. “Nah, I’m just ruffling the old bat’s feathers,” he replied, making no effort to lower his voice. “Had to find some way to amuse myself while you were asleep.”

Zari rolled her eyes. “You’re such an ass.”

John sipped his tea, unimpressed. “Oi, is that the best you can do?”

“Milady, I suggest you try _boggin’ plonker,_ ” Mrs. Duncan offered, her tone mirthful.

“Blooming harpy,” John muttered. 

“ _Sassenach,_ ” the housekeeper quipped back.

As much as this new rivalry amused Zari, she couldn’t ignore the funny taste in her mouth mingling with the spices from the chai. “Mrs. Duncan, did you put something in this tea?”

“Dinnae fash, milady,” Mrs. Duncan replied, turning around at Zari’s inquiry to reassure her. “I only added a dash of special herbs to aid in yer health, is all.”

Zari raised her brows. “ _Herbs to aid in my health?"_

Mrs. Duncan winked. “And fertility.”

Zari and John picked a very inopportune moment to take a sip of their tea, which they both spit out across the kitchen. Unfortunately, Zari had inhaled her tea through her nose while John proceeded into a coughing fit. It was safe to say they were equally mortified, their cheeks flaming as they avoided each other’s gazes.

Once John’s choking subsided, he wiped his watery eyes and stood from the table, abandoning his tea and newspaper. “And on _that_ note, I’ve gotta shove off. Apparently I have a day job now, and those pesky demons aren’t gonna banish themselves back to hell.”

Zari glared at him as if to say, _You’re seriously not gonna leave me here alone, are you?_ “You sure you don’t need any help? I could come with you.”

Mrs. Duncan gasped and pressed a hand to her heart. “Oh milady, ye shouldn’t involve yourself in Mr. Constantine’s _nasty_ line of work. It’s bad enough he dabbles in the dark sorcery all willy-nilly.”

“Didn’t you _literally_ do that yesterday?” Zari replied.

“Be careful, milord,” Mrs. Duncan warned John, completely ignoring Zari’s question. “Remember to cleanse yourself of demonic energy before ye return. There’s a vial of holy water hidden in the flower pot outside the front door.” 

“ _Lovely_ ,” John said, smiling mockingly at the housekeeper. Then he turned to Zari, his features drastically softening. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try not to get yourself in any trouble, yeah?”

“No promises,” Zari told him, though he had already departed from the kitchen before getting the chance to hear her. Seconds later the front door opened and slammed shut, rattling the house. For some reason, the resonating sound made Zari feel hollow inside.

Already bored without John’s dry humor filling the void, Zari picked up the newspaper he’d been perusing, her eyes zeroing in on a short article that was circled in pencil near the bottom of the front page. Underlined was a pseudonym above the article, _By: Z. Tarazi._

Zari clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her growing smile, giddy as she intently read over the words her Victorian self had crafted under the guise of a mysterious feminist author:

_“Women matter on their own conviction and not in relation to men. The so-called weaker sex deserves the right to be treated with the utmost dignity and respect, to be heard and not ridiculed for possessing an opinion. Men do not know more about a woman’s rights and desires than a woman herself. Women are not made whole by the man they ultimately marry. They are already whole…”_


	6. There Lies More Peril

**_“I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,_ **

**_Remembering how I love thy company.”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ **

For the next fortnight, the Whitechapel murders and Leather Apron were the headlines of every major newspaper in London.

Zari was amazed that even in 1888, the press found a way to sensationalize a serial killer. Newspaper sales skyrocketed and the creation of the myth around Jack the Ripper only further amplified public terror. Because there were no witnesses or clues, more outlandish theories and speculations were introduced everyday. 

The Ripper was depicted more as a phantom stalking the East End rather than a madman made of flesh and blood. 

What was more troubling was the press using the Whitechapel murders to stoke the public’s fear of the London slums, portraying poverty-stricken areas as a criminal underworld. The morality of the victims were questioned simply because they were prostitutes, and virtually all the newspapers shared the same stance that these women had chosen to place themselves in a vulnerable position and were part of the crime problem in the city. The gory details of the murders were emphasized to an unnecessary degree, sickening Zari to her core. 

At breakfast one morning in late September, she was barely able to stomach the vivid article on the slaughter of Annie Chapman, the Ripper’s alleged second victim. “This is absolutely vile,” Zari lamented, clutching her own abdomen at the mere thought of having her organs ripped out. Her appetite had long since diminished. “I don’t see why it was necessary to point out that her womb and intestines had been removed.”

“Some people want to hear every gruesome little detail,” John replied, his tongue rolling over his r’s dramatically. It came as no surprise that he wasn’t the least bit disturbed by the murders, enjoying his English breakfast with a carefree demeanor. “Especially when there’s a serial killer looming about.”

“Can’t we do something about this?” Zari asked, jabbing a finger at the newspaper’s ambiguous sketch of the Ripper. “We know what the bastard actually looks like.”

John sighed, setting his silverware down. “Aye, but it’s not our problem to solve.”

“Oh, _come on_ ,” Zari protested indignantly. “We took down the Ripper before, remember? At the boarding house?”

“Pretty sure that was _me_. Weren’t _you_ the one who was almost—how did you put it?— _serial killed?_ ” John’s hands made air quotes around her exact words.

Zari swatted his air quotes away. “I had that situation handled!”

“Sure you did, sweetheart,” John said, winking before returning his attention to his own newspaper. He was hasty to change the subject. “Oh, look. The circus is in town.”

He showed Zari an advertisement for Barnum & Bailey Circus performing at the Olympia for the rest of the month. One of her earliest memories was visiting the Greatest Show on Earth with her parents several years before Behrad was born; it was strange being reminded of something she hadn’t thought of in ages. Underneath the ad was a back and white photograph of an elephant wearing a saddle emblazoned with the name Jumbo. Behrad would have most likely despised the circus for its treatment of animals. 

“Good, I’m sure they’re always looking for new attractions,” Zari jested, nudging John’s newspaper with hers. 

John snorted. “ _Ha_. A circus couldn’t contain me.”

This was typically how the pair spent their mornings. In the several weeks they’d been trapped there, somehow they gradually settled into a routine. Zari had come to enjoy her quiet mornings, waking up to the smell of tea brewing and bacon sizzling. Most of the time John was awake before her, sitting at the kitchen table usually in just his nightshirt, much to the displeasure of Mrs. Duncan who did not take partial nudity at the breakfast table lightly. Zari certainly had no complaints, opting to wear her nightgown around the house knowing full well that John would be looking at her.

Zari didn’t remember when exactly they accustomed themselves to this routine. She knew how John preferred his tea and that his alternative drink of choice was gin, and he knew she loved chai tea and Persian sweets. They touched far more than was considered friendly, whether through lingering brushes of their hands or teasing shoulder nudges. Oftentimes during bouts of insomnia they would talk late at night until the first hint of dawn. The two of them had come to genuinely enjoy each other’s companionship in such a short time. 

Replacing her usual habit of checking her social media each morning, Zari and John liked to read the newspaper together. They even created a sort of game out of it, spotting as many familiar current events they already knew about from the future as they could. Sometimes Zari and John would find advertisements of their respective businesses in the middle of everyday’s newspaper, their names among the likes of figures possessing historical prominence. Zari was used to being a big deal, but in a way this was much more humbling. 

According to John, he busied himself with his work as an occult detective and exorcist, occasionally finding an interesting demon to banish to hell but mostly handling cases in which superstitious people believe their homes were haunted, when in reality it was usually a pesky cat or rodent. John claimed he didn’t mind his job; he got paid generously for his services and it was always an interesting dinner conversation topic. When John wasn’t working, he could usually be found locked in his study deciphering different spells and rituals that could potentially bring them home.

As for Zari, she spent her days reading whatever she could get her hands on, everything from novels to John’s spell books she half understood. Really, she just wanted to be helpful and couldn’t stand the thought of John doing all the research. For work she sorted through various letters from admirers of her literary work and her business personnel, flipping through expense records and cosmetics catalogs. This proved to be tedious work, but even in this reality Zari preferred to be in charge when it came to business. She had also begun keeping a journal as an attempt to unravel her two sets of memories, a memoir of two different people trapped within the same body.

Late afternoon had become both Zari and John’s favorite time. Something they both grew to cherish was recounting each other’s days at dinner. Zari would share something interesting or useful she’d read, while John would amuse her with stories of his work misadventures and by bickering with Mrs. Duncan. 

It was rare for Zari to find a person who matched her for every beat of a conversation, who was every bit as witty and charming, and who wasn’t afraid to challenge her. 

Neither realized it yet, but their Victorian selves were becoming more and more ingrained in their personalities everyday, a strengthening enchantment that beckoned them ever so closer together.

Distracting her from her thoughts, Zari came across yet another brazen theory about the Whitechapel murders and couldn’t help but wonder aloud, “Hypothetically, what if we were to help stop Jack the Ripper?”

“ _Hypothetically,_ we would be changing history. I tried that once. Don’t recommend it.”

“How can you sit back and let this happen?” Zari demanded. “We’ve seen the Ripper’s face, John. Don’t we owe it to the voiceless victims to help solve their murders before other innocent women are butchered?”

“I get where you’re coming from, luv,” John said, clearly struggling to maintain his patience. “But again, _it’s not our problem to solve._ We have more pressing matters to worry about than involving ourselves in a bloody cold case. If we interfere, there’s no telling what we could muck up in the future.”

Zari scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew on some level John was right, but wasn’t willing to admit it. “I can’t believe you’re being so selfish. Women are _dying_ and you’re more concerned over getting home.”

John tilted his head back and laughed loudly, further irritating Zari. “Are you being serious? _I'm_ selfish? I reckon you only want to catch the Ripper to satisfy your own pride.”

Zari tried not to reveal how much his comment stung, schooling her features into indifference to the best of her ability. John’s smug smirk only fueled her hostility toward him in that moment. She leaned forward on her elbows, edging close enough to John so he would see the venom brewing in her eyes. “You know _nothing_ about my motives.”

“Oh yeah?” John copied her position until their arms brushed, meeting her gaze head-on as if he was accepting a challenge. “So everything you tell me during our late-night chats are lies?”

Zari’s fingernails dug into her arms. She knew John only wanted a reaction out of her and refused to grant him the satisfaction of pissing her off. They glared at each other in stubborn silence, John’s lips slowly curling with mischief while Zari chomped down on her tongue and resisted the urge to slap the stupid smirk from his face. 

Becoming all too aware of the heat simmering between them, Zari abruptly pushed her chair back and fled from the kitchen table before she could say something she would regret. She despised herself for allowing John’s biting remark to shake her deep-seated confidence, even more so for her temptation to run into his arms when he tried to apologize.

“Zari, wait—“ John started to say, following her out of the kitchen.

“Just go to work, John,” Zari snapped, already halfway up the stairs to find Mrs. Duncan. She was in dire need of a warm bath and some meditation.

* * *

After spending nearly an hour in the bathtub with the door locked, Zari’s mind was clear and her skin was disgustingly pruny. 

Wearing just her undergarments, she padded into the bedroom expecting to find Mrs. Duncan prepared to dress her for the day but instead found her barely acquainted handmaid she’d only met a week prior. 

“Good morning, mistress,” Catherine greeted kindly, her soft voice barely carrying throughout the large master bedroom. She appeared to be tidying the pile of books on the desk that were permanently in disarray because of John, stopping her task when she noticed Zari’s expression. “Have you been crying?”

Zari sniffed and furiously wiped away the remnants of angry tears she didn’t notice had slipped down her face. While she barely knew Catherine, who was a rather unattentive maid that had a tendency to be absent from the house for days at a time without a proper excuse, Zari didn’t appreciate the young girl’s nosiness. “I’m fine,” she lied, inspecting the dress laid out on the bed. 

Catherine coughed into her elbow before nervously twisting her fingers together. “Is the dress I picked out to your liking, miss?”

“It’s stunning,” Zari told her, admiring the extravagant lavender tea gown made of watered silk with cream colored underskirts. “Kind of fancy for everyday, though. What’s the occasion?” 

“You have high tea with your ladies this afternoon,” Catherine replied, promptly throwing the dress over Zari’s head and tying the laces in the back before she knew what was happening. Her hands were much more efficient than Mrs. Duncan’s arthritic fingers. “Have you forgotten again?”

Zari shook her head. Not forgotten, per say. Yes, she had been putting off the impending book club meeting with her ladies since the day she’d arrived, but not because she didn’t want to face her so-called friends in this reality, whose names and faces she didn’t even remember yet. Her only excuse was her demanding job. A thriving cosmetics business managed mostly by a woman in the 1880’s didn’t run itself, after all. 

She may be a Victorian lady, but she wasn’t one that attended social gatherings and gossiped while stuffing herself with tea and finger sandwiches every single day.

Catherine ushered Zari over to the vanity, where a complex array of makeup and hair products saved for special occasions were spread out. She tugged a brush through Zari’s waves, twisting black strands with expert ease into a braid. Zari gritted her teeth as her handmaid pulled and arranged her braided hair high atop her head, purposely leaving two thin wisps hanging at either side of her face. 

“Do you know who’s attending this uh...tea?” Zari inquired, pretending she was curious for practical reasons and not because she had no idea who her ladies were. 

Catherine stepped back to survey her handiwork, checking that the braid was tightly secured with pins. She then gently grasped Zari’s chin, forcing her to look up as she started to line her eyes with kohl. “Should be your usual guests, mistress. Miss Lance, Miss Sharpe, Mrs. Palmer, Miss Wu…”

Zari’s head jerked, nearly causing Catherine to poke her eye out with the kohl liner. Her heart fluttered with the first semblance of hope since she first arrived in 1888. Could the Legends really be trapped here as well? 

If Zari had known her ladies were supposedly her female companions from the future, she never would have continued to postpone tea with them. But she couldn’t afford to get her hopes up, so she forced herself to temper her excitement. She had to see her friends with her own eyes to be sure.

“Mistress, did I startle you?” Catherine asked, her blue eyes widening in concern. Up close, the handmaid appeared even younger than Zari realized, her unblemished pale skin vacant of the telltale signs of aging. Tendrils of light blonde curls escaped her bonnet and framed her face, accentuating her youthful features. 

“I just don’t like things touching my eyes,” Zari fibbed to reassure the young maid, who was obviously insecure and eager to please. “Catherine, do you mind me asking your age?”

Catherine smiled, revealing yellowed and missing teeth that could have been evidence of possible poverty. “I will be twenty the day after Christmas, miss.”

Zari’s brows raised in surprise. “You’re so young. How long have you been a maid?”

“Not long,” Catherine replied, coughing over her shoulder before applying rouge to Zari’s cheeks. She was much more heavy-handed with makeup than what Zari preferred, but she didn’t comment on it. “Mrs. Duncan was kind enough to employ me a few months ago. Without her generosity, I would be on the streets. I fell on hard times, you see…” The handmaid quickly shut her mouth as if she said too much, avoiding eye contact while blending the rouge. 

Zari’s heart ached with compassion she didn’t know she could feel for someone she barely knew. She blamed this empathy on her much more kindhearted alter ego. “Hey, it's alright. You can talk to me.”

Catherine bit her lip and shook her head. “Oh, I mustn't. It is not proper to unleash my burdens on a lady such as yourself. I am a mere servant.”

“You’re _more_ than a servant,” Zari said, touching Catherine’s hand. She didn’t understand why she felt such a strong urge to comfort this poor young girl. “You’re a human being, first and foremost. And I’d be happy to let you confide in me. I can tell something is bothering you.”

“If I confess, I will surely be dismissed,” Catherine protested, her blue eyes becoming glassy with tears. “You may be kind and considerate, mistress, but Mrs. Duncan and Mr. Constantine will not like it if they knew what befell me.”

Now Zari was increasingly curious about her strange handmaid, wondering if what she was referring to was the reason for her frequent absences. She hoped her powers of persuasion were still foolproof in this reality. “I won’t tell John or Mrs. Duncan anything. I promise.”

Catherine fell silent for a while, using her fingers to dab crimson coloring onto Zari’s lips, blotting the excess away with a napkin. When she finished, her hands trembled as she put away the makeup. Zari remained resigned while Catherine reluctantly began telling her story, “Before I found employment here at the Constantine Estate, I lived a very difficult life in Whitechapel. But I was happy, at least for a little while. I had taken a lover, you see…”

“I assume he’s no longer in your life?” Zari asked softly.

The maid swallowed, struggling to form her next words. “No he...he abandoned me shortly after he found out I was expecting.”

Zari felt a pang of guilt and regretted ever persuading Catherine to confide in her. “Oh, I’m so sorry...”

Catherine shook her head and managed a weak smile. “I do not regret it, mistress. My sin may have cost me my innocence, but through it God blessed me with my sweet Thomas.” Suddenly, she became emotional and fell to her knees in front of Zari, clutching at her skirts. “Oh miss, I beg of you! _Please_ do not utter any of this to Mrs. Duncan or your husband. I need this position to pay for my dear boy. You see, I must bring money to my sister every week for her to feed him. This is why I am gone so often, to visit Thomas. I will be cast out onto the streets and forced to sell myself again if they find out I am an unwed mother!”

Moved by the young girl’s troubling situation, Zari grasped Catherine’s hands. “Catherine, you have my word. This will stay between us. You can keep your job here, and I’m going to make sure you have enough money to pay for your son.”

“What?” Catherine gasped, her wracked sobs inducing another coughing fit. “You would keep a secret from your own husband? And pay for a stranger’s child?”

Zari nodded. “Of course I would.”

“Why are you being so kind to me, miss?”

“Because I know what it’s like to be a woman in this day and age,” Zari replied, urging Catherine’s wide, terrified gaze to meet hers. “It’s not easy, especially when society tells us we’ll only be successful with the support of a man. Life may have dealt you a bad hand, but you’ve risen up in spite of your circumstances and done what you could for the sake of your son. And I admire you for that.”

Catherine gaped at her as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, making Zari wonder how long it’d been since the young girl was shown a moment of benevolence. “I am most grateful for your leniency, mistress. I only wish humanity shared your compassionate heart.”

Zari offered an encouraging smile. “The world won’t always be this way.” 

When Catherine dissolved into yet another coughing spell, Zari handed her the napkin she’d used to blot her lipstick. The maid managed to catch her breath after a moment and removed the napkin from her lips, the white cloth stained with droplets of blood.

“Catherine, how long have you been ill?” Zari asked, alarmed. She stood from the bench she was sitting on and prompted Catherine to take her place. 

“It is only a cough, mistress,” Catherine explained, visibly pale and pained by the effort of breathing. “It comes and goes.”

“You need a doctor,” Zari told her. For all she knew, the poor girl had contracted some ridiculous Victorian illness from a chill in the air. “I’ll ask Mrs. Duncan if one can see you today.”

“You needn’t worry about me, mistress.”

“Why not? That’s what friends are for.”

* * *

Zari felt as if she were watching the scene play out before her through someone else's eyes.

Her ladies were dressed in their best tea gowns and sat around her at the dining table, which was arranged with decorative topiaries and bouquets of pink and white tulips. Fine china and porcelain tea cups matching the flowers were spread out alongside platters of cucumber sandwiches, imported cheeses, scones, and chocolates. Flutes of champagne were served along with black tea. 

There was something horrifically wrong and only Zari noticed. Her ladies shared the same faces of Sara Lance, Ava Sharpe, Nora Darhk, Mona Wu, and Astra Logue. But the longer Zari sat there, the more she realized these were _not_ her friends. 

“Tell us, Zari,” Mona asked, a smile fixed to her face. She held up a copy of Arthur Conan Doyle’s _A Study in Scarlet,_ the maroon clothbound complimenting the rose embroidery on her bodice. “What did you think of our latest read?”

Zari had just taken a bite of cucumber sandwich and swallowed hard. She had nearly forgotten this was supposed to be a book club meeting. “Oh...I loved it! In fact, the Sherlock Holmes stories were one of mine and my brother’s favorites when we were younger.”

Ava, who sported a simple yet elegant green gown with a gossamer shawl, stopped stirring her tea and gave Zari a funny look. “How could that be when _A Study in Scarlet_ was only published last year?”

 _Shit_. Zari panicked and fumbled for an explanation, laughing nervously. “Ha, I only meant...that my brother and I liked it so much that we would have enjoyed it when we were younger! Sherlock Holmes seems like an instant classic.”

Mona sighed dreamily. “Conan Doyle is brilliant, is he not?”

“I prefer Edgar Allan Poe’s detective stories,” Nora remarked, waving a fan that matched her silky charcoal and silver striped dress. Zari caught a flash of a wedding band on her finger.

“There you go again, _raving_ about Poe,” Sara said, flashing a teasing grin. “Nora, I suspect you cannot enjoy a novel unless it contains murder, macabre, and mystery.”

“And I suspect your ideal novel involves a scandalous affair and risqué humor,” Nora quipped back.

Sara laughed, her eyes twinkling the same color as her pale blue gown with white lace. “Of course, I’m no stranger to scandalous affairs.”

Astra, who had mostly been quiet, finally spoke up. She tugged at the flounced sleeves of her vibrant gold gown. “Why do you say that?”

“I suppose since this is your first time at book club, you ought to hear this from myself before gossip reaches you,” Sara said as she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspirative whisper. “A year ago I was engaged to a man named Oliver Queen, but we ended our betrothment after I caught him having an affair with my sister.”

“You’re kidding,” Astra replied, her eyes widening with disbelief.

“Oh, she’s not,” said Mona, positively giddy at the chance to gossip despite the rather serious subject matter. “It was the talk of the town for weeks. I heard Oliver and Laurel were so embarrassed by the scandal that they fled to Paris.”

“Supposedly,” Sara muttered, her red painted lips curling into a smirk. “Though if I’m being quite honest, I was not very heartbroken over the ordeal. You could say someone else had already caught my eye.” Sara’s fingers tiptoed across the table toward Ava’s hand, intertwining their fingers together.

Zari’s head was spinning as she listened to their conversations. How was it possible that these women resembled her actual friends and displayed their same mannerisms, but were clearly _not_ them? The more Zari studied them, the more she perceived something was off. 

For starters, none of them had blinked once since tea began half an hour ago.

Zari also didn’t fail to notice how Ava had picked up the boiling hot tea kettle by its sides rather than holding it by the handle when she filled everyone’s cups, her hands completely unharmed by the scalding kettle. Nobody besides Zari touched their food or drinks. Their emotions and smiles were forced and hollow. 

It was extremely unsettling, yet Zari was unable to find an opportunity to escape. As she sat silently and observed, her memories of her ladies slowly filtered through her mind like a roll of film.

Sara was the wealthy daughter of the current superintendent at Scotland Yard, reputable for her wit and sharp tongue. Much to the objection of her family, she was in a relationship with Ava, whose practicality tamed her free spiritedness. Ava was a professional woman who helped manage the logistics of Zari’s business. Mona was the group gossip, a budding writer always armed with a good book and the latest rumors. Nora was the only other married woman in the group apart from Zari, her husband none other than the successful inventor Raymond Palmer. Astra was the latest member of book club, becoming acquainted with the ladies through her recent engagement. 

_To_ _Behrad Tarazi_.

Zari’s baby brother was actually alive in this reality. Her _Behrad joon_. 

Zari blinked away tears and struggled to keep her emotions in check as the subject abruptly switched to her brother, instigated by Mona who asked, “So Astra, what is it like being engaged to an artist such as Behrad?”

“Aren’t we supposed to be discussing the book?” Ava protested.

“You didn’t think book club was for _reading_ , did you?” Sara joked, turning to Astra. “We assure you, our club is a sacred place. Whatever is said stays among the women in this room.” 

Astra was hesitant, glancing at Zari before she said, “While Behrad is undoubtedly handsome and charming, I cannot help but wonder if I’m doomed to a life of tedious domesticity once I’m married. I have always longed to travel and see the world.”

Nora’s gaze softened as she placed a reassuring hand on Astra’s shoulder, the most authentic display of emotion Zari had seen from any of the ladies thus far. “Married life is a blessing once you grow accustomed to it, my friend. Isn’t that right, Zari?”

Zari made an effort not to appear like a deer caught in headlights and smiled. “Yeah...John is great.” She resisted the urge to cringe as she recalled their ridiculous argument from that morning. 

“You both are fortunate to have husbands with unconventional careers,” Mona said, regarding Zari and Nora. “In my opinion, it makes them far more interesting.” She then addressed Astra. “Behrad as well. Did you know he illustrates the covers for my books?”

“I did not,” Astra replied, smiling contently. “What a small world we live in.”

“An exorcist, a scientist, and an artist,” Ava mused. “How utterly bohemian.”

Sara raised her untouched flute of champagne. “To the bohemian ideal. May it live on!”

Zari was dazed as she and her ladies clinked their glasses together in toast. It wasn’t until she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder that she was brought back to reality again. 

Thankfully it was Mrs. Duncan, who leaned in to whisper in Zari’s ear, “The doctor has arrived, milady. He’s attending to Miss Catherine in the parlor.”

This was Zari’s perfect chance for a getaway. Excusing herself from the table, she trailed after Mrs. Duncan into the hallway and was finally able to breathe again. Her corset strained against her rib cage more than usual with each unwavering gulp of air. 

When they reached the parlor, Zari willed herself to present her best smile, immensely grateful for the arrival of the doctor who not only was going to help Catherine, but also indirectly aided her with a reason to flee the suffocating atmosphere of the dining room. 

“Sir, allow me to introduce ye to the lady of this residence, Mrs. Zari Constantine,” Mrs. Duncan spoke to the dark-haired stranger wearing a heavy gray overcoat and a bowler hat, whose back turned as he checked Catherine’s pulse while she sat on the sofa. “Milady, this is Dr. White.”

Zari curtsied to the doctor as he turned around and revealed his face, causing her to inhale sharply and her smile to falter. Her heart plunged into her stomach and she felt a terrible chill course through the room.

Standing in the middle of the parlor was Jack the Ripper.


	7. To Cease Thy Strife

**_“And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,_ **

**_Forgetting any other home but this.”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ **

It was the third time this week John was leaving a job site covered in blood. 

Turns out, being the most acclaimed exorcist in London wasn’t as glitzy and glamorous as it was made out to be. 

A shiny black carriage was parked outside the ramshackle Cable Street Inn in southwestern Whitechapel, where a sèance gone wrong unleashed a rather nasty poltergeist with a knack for making the walls ooze blood. Spirits who mucked about simply because they were pissed off with nothing better to do were never fun to deal with. They were truly the rebellious teenagers of the supernatural world.

Needless to say, the Cable Street Inn would not be receiving business anytime soon. 

Sitting on the perch of the carriage with the reins secured tightly in his hands was John’s coachman, fast asleep underneath the lowered brim of his cap. John couldn’t help but regard the man with fondness, grateful to be accompanied everyday by the friendly face of an old mate.

Just like old times.

John banged on the hood of the carriage, startling Chas awake with a grunt. He nearly fell off his seat, causing the horses to whinny in alarm and stomp their hooves restlessly against the cobblestones. Chas’s gaze fell on John, scanning his bloodied attire with a tired expression that was reminiscent to how the cab driver typically looked at him in their former reality. 

“What was it this time, boss?” Chas inquired, hopping onto the ground. He was the only other person in this time period besides Zari who didn’t formally address John as _Mr. Constantine_ or _Milord_.

“Botched sèance,” John replied, wiping his dirty hands on his trousers. Unfortunately, his trench coat had taken the brunt of the bloodbath. “You’d think people would’ve learned by now not to tempt the spirits when you’re within blocks of the bloody Tower of London.”

Chas laughed and took John’s leather bag from him, depositing it in the luggage trunk. “There’s a change of clothes in the carriage. Mrs. Duncan would have my neck if I allowed you to track blood in the house again.”

“Don’t tell me that old bat scares you. Thought you were braver than that, mate.” Of course John knew this man wasn’t _his_ Chas, but he was close enough. He figured if this version of Chas was dangerous and wanted to kill him, he would have done it by now. Plus it was useful to have allies, especially when they were willing to do your bidding at beck and call. “Did you get the stuff?”

“A beggar nearly killed me for my teeth, but yes.” Chas glanced around warily before extracting a dubious brown paper bag from his coat, carefully handing it to John as if the parcel was fragile. “Just as you requested. Crushed verbena leaves, mugwort, frankincense, diluted demon blood, ceremonial candles, and a bottle of scotch. Mr. Green gives you his regards, by the way.”

Of all the blokes that could conduct a back-alley occult shop glamoured in the darkest depths of the East End, it just had to be _Gary Green_. In this reality, Gary was an established mage who most sorcerers would kill to be in good graces with. Through their acquaintance, John automatically had any magical commodity at his disposal.

John checked the paper bag for clarification. “And the flowers?”

Chas nodded toward the carriage. “With your clothes.” As John peeked through the window and found a bouquet of flowers laying on the seat, Chas added cheekily, “Trouble with the missus?”

John gave him a warning glare. “ _Don’t._ ” 

Evidently John’s Victorian persona lacked a backbone, because he found himself dreading facing Zari when he returned home. He hated that he couldn’t shake how helpless he’d felt after their stupid argument that morning. Since when did he care whether he pissed someone off or not? 

John was a hopeless git at apologizing, so he thought flowers were his best chance at earning Zari’s forgiveness. They had a much better chance at returning home if they weren’t at odds with each other. 

The carriage ride back to the Constantine Estate was spent in quiet contemplation. John drew the velvet curtains over the windows, shrouding the interior of the stagecoach in darkness as he changed into the clean set of clothes—a pair of slacks, a plain white shirt, and a red tie—that were evocative of the ensemble he used to wear everyday. The leather upholstery was so comfortable that John was half tempted to have a quick kip, if not for the jarring movement of the carriage clattering along the bumpy streets.

Igniting one of the carriage lamps with his Zippo lighter, John inspected the items he’d asked Chas to pick up for him, satisfied by the quality of the ingredients. Everything needed to be just right for the next ritual he was going to attempt. Finding a way back to their own time was proving to be an exhausting series of trial and error. 

But researching temporal displacement and testing various methods of creating portals weren’t the only things he was devoting his time to.

John initially suspected something was off while traipsing through the streets of London with Zari on the day of their arrival. While Zari was absorbed by the sights, John’s senses were in overdrive, trained to detect otherworldly disturbances. He first detected the electric energy in the atmosphere, as if the city itself was charged with magic. Of course this was a given. After all, Charlie had used the Loom of Fate to craft this reality for them. 

What didn’t make sense was the unseasonable chill and the perpetual sour odor in the air that could only be characterized as the stench of death. 

John had kept his thoughts to himself as he and Zari passed the same five buildings every few minutes, crossed paths with the same group of passerby, and heard the same repetition of sounds on a loop. He didn’t say a word even when his ears picked up whispers drifting from dark alleyways. Even as his eyes followed the network of fathomless cracks along the brick walls and sidewalks, an indication of interdimensional rifts, he pretended everything was okay. 

Despite all the warning signs screaming at him, John couldn’t bring himself to worry Zari. At least not until he was certain about what they were dealing with. 

John didn’t realize they had come to a halt in front of the house until the carriage door flew open. Chas waited patiently for him to step out, squinting at the blinding sunset peeking over the rooftops. Adjusting his vision to the light, John managed to grab his leather bag from Chas while scrambling to hold the paper bag, his bloodied clothing, and flowers with his other arm. 

“Thanks for the help,” John snarked, using his knee to adjust the items in his arms.

Chas shrugged and scratched his beard. “You would have refused my help if I offered it, boss.”

John started toward the doorstep, chuckling under his breath. “You’re not wrong.” 

“You owe me for the shopping trip, by the way.” Chas held out his hand in a _pay up_ gesture.

Instead of dropping the coins he owed Chas in his open palm, John merely grinned and shook his hand. “Cheers, mate.”

Chas rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn’t press John any further. “Oh, and tell Zari I said hello.”

“Of course. Sure you don’t want to join us for dinner?”

“Sounds tempting, but I think I’ll pass. I intend to avoid Mrs. Duncan for as long as I can.”

“Why’s that?” John asked, tilting his head in bemusement.

As if on cue the front door burst open, revealing an agitated Mrs. Duncan with her hands on her hips. She spotted Chas and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Chas Chandler! Ye still owe me money for our last game of whist, ye stingy git!”

“That would be my cue to leave,” said Chas, scrambling onto the carriage perch with the limited grace his tall stature allowed him. “Same time tomorrow, boss?”

“Sure?” John stated this as more of a question rather than a response. He never would have pictured two personalities like Chas and Mrs. Duncan being acquainted enough to play cards together, but the thought amused him to no end. 

Before Mrs. Duncan could make it down the steps, Chas waved at John to bid him goodbye and whistled, spurring the horses onward until the carriage disappeared down the street. John attempted to stifle his laughter as the housekeeper released a stream of curses in Gaelic and stomped up the steps, eyeing the bloodstained clothes he was holding. 

“I dinna ken how ye always end up covered in blood,” Mrs. Duncan said, snatching the bloodied bundle from his arms with a revolted curl of her lip. 

“Least it’s not my own blood, yeah?” John joked, earning a withering glare. “Blimey, what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Mrs. Duncan ignored his snide comment and retrieved the vial of holy water she kept hidden in the flower pot beside the door, flinging droplets at John with her fingers. After a day like today, a spiritual cleansing was certainly needed. “I fear something is troubling yer wife, milord.”

John instinctively stroked his wedding band with his thumb at the mention of his _wife_ , the easiness of the gesture surprising him. “What happened?”

“I dinna ken,” Mrs. Duncan replied. “Milady’s worked herself into quite a frenzy. She’s been pacing the foyer for so long, I’m surprised she hasn’t burned a hole through the floor.” 

His interest now piqued, John followed Mrs. Duncan into the house. True to the housekeeper’s word, Zari was indeed pacing back and forth across the tiled floor, chewing on her thumbnail. When her gaze fell on John, she visibly relaxed. 

“There you are,” Zari said, glancing at the bouquet in John’s arms. Her features hardened again. “Are those orange blossoms?”

“Yeah, I uh…” John cleared his throat and set his bags down, then awkwardly held the flowers out toward Zari. “Here.”

Zari stared at the bouquet for a moment before accepting it, noticeably unsettled. John wondered what he did wrong, immediately blaming Chas for picking out the flowers. Rather than thanking him, Zari instead asked, “Why did you bring me these?”

John blinked. “For this morning.”

Mrs. Duncan took the orange blossoms. “How lovely. I’ll put these in a vase right away.” She offered John and Zari a saucy wink and added, “Orange blossoms are a harbinger of fertility, ye know.”

 _Oh,_ John thought, suddenly very uncomfortable. _That’s what I did wrong_.

Once Mrs. Duncan departed upstairs, Zari huffed in frustration and threw her hands up. “What is it with people in this time period and fertility?”

John scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. _Change the bloody subject_. “Listen, luv, I wanted to apologize for…”

“Never mind that,” Zari interrupted. John noticed her eyes kept darting warily in the direction of the parlor. “We have much bigger problems.”

“What is it?” Impulsively, John reached out to touch Zari’s arm, prompting her to meet his gaze. Evidence of fear swam in her eyes, causing John’s jaw to clench. “What’s wrong?”

Zari swallowed, stepping closer to whisper in his ear, “Don’t freak out, but Jack the Ripper is in the parlor.”

John inhaled sharply and pushed away from her to see if she was kidding. “ _What?_ ”

“I just said _don’t freak out!”_ Zari hissed.

“Did you really expect me to be unfazed?” John demanded, running a frantic hand through his hair. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with after a long day. “Wait, are you sure it’s him?”

“I’m pretty sure I remember the man who tried to murder me,” Zari retorted.

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The bottle of scotch in the paper bag was calling his name. “Why the bloody hell is he here?”

“Keep your voice down!” Zari chided. Then she bent down to help John collect his belongings and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen, where they stood huddled together in front of the sink. Their proximity made it difficult for John to concentrate when Zari continued, “Catherine is sick so I asked Mrs. Duncan to summon a doctor, and our murderer happened to show up. Do you think he’s really a physician?”

“Makes sense if he is,” John replied, retrieving the bottle of scotch and pouring himself a glass. “It was a popular theory that Jack the Ripper was a surgeon, or that he at least had some sort of training in the medical field.”

Zari let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t care about conspiracy theories, John. What do we do with a freaking _serial killer_ in our house?”

“Where’s your fighting spirit from this morning?” John teased, smirking. “Didn’t you want to play the hero and take down old Leather Apron? Should be a grand time, just like at the boarding house.” Of course, defeating a bunch of murderous Encores wasn’t the only thing John fondly remembered about their time at the boarding house, but he decided to keep this to himself. 

“In this dress?” Zari scoffed. “Absolutely not. Unlike you, I take pride in my appearance.” She used her thumb to wipe away a smear of blood on John’s neck, her touch sending a thrill through him. “Do I want to know why you have bloodstains on your skin?”

“Probably not.” John leaned closer, his voice dropping suggestively. “Maybe I just like it when you make a fuss over me.”

Zari’s lips curled into a smile as she fiddled with John’s tie, his eyes tracking the movement of her fingers on his chest. “Hm, I wouldn’t call it making a fuss. Think of it as a general concern for your wellbeing.”

John tried to ignore the flutter of his heart. “I appreciate it, luv.”

They seemed to forget there was still a serial killer in their parlor as they basked in each other’s closeness, their eyes betraying much more than either of them cared to admit. Zari continued to toy at the loose knot of John’s tie, her fingers resting near the hollow of his throat. John had abandoned his glass of scotch, one hand buried in his pocket while the other was propped on the counter. He was dangerously close to brushing the silk fabric gathered at Zari’s hip. 

Zari was positively radiant today in a pale lavender gown that glided down her figure in rivers of watered silk. Her warm brown eyes were more striking than usual, accentuated by dark kohl liner. Her lips were an inviting shade of crimson that John’s gaze was immediately drawn to. Tendrils of black strands that had escaped Zari’s elaborate hairstyle floated near her face, and John found himself itching to tuck them behind her ear. She was demure and seductive all at once, a poison that would surely ruin him.

John desperately wanted a taste. 

Spurred on by the alcohol in his system, John slowly invaded Zari’s space, waiting for her to reject him. She didn’t. John’s pulse quickened as Zari’s agitation shifted to blissful unguardedness, her pupils dilating a fraction. He knew they both wanted this. They couldn’t dance around their attraction forever. 

John’s lips had barely ghosted across Zari’s mouth when a clattering noise followed by a round of raucous laughter from the dining room broke the spell. He abruptly stepped away from Zari and picked up his glass again, studying the amber liquid with intense interest. The kitchen returned to its normal temperature.

Zari laughed softly, seemingly unaffected by what just happened. “Sorry about that.”

“To be continued?” John casually asked, taking a long swig of scotch. 

“I’m counting on it,” Zari replied with a wink.

John nearly choked on his drink, not expecting that response at all. He winced at the liquor burning a path down his esophagus. “What was that, by the way?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the dining room where several voices were speaking at once. “Do we have more company?”

“Yeah, about that…” Zari grinned sheepishly. “This is where things get really messed up.”

Before John could question her, a woman greatly resembling Sara Lance sauntered into the kitchen, chuckling to herself. When she noticed John and Zari’s presence, she eyed them both suspiciously, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Am I interrupting something?”

John heart turned to lead as he gaped at the familiar blonde, wondering if something stronger was mixed in his scotch. “ _Sara?_ ”

Sara curtsied mockingly. “The one and only. I must say, Zari, your husband is acting stranger than usual.” She strode further into the kitchen and before John could register what she was doing, she snatched the bottle of scotch off the counter and proceeded to pour its contents down the sink, her unblinking eyes never leaving John’s. “I believe you have had enough to drink, Mr. Constantine.” Then, Sara’s piercing gaze switched to Zari and she offered a fake, warm smile. “As always, book club was a tremendous pleasure. Sadly, the ladies and I must be going. Until next week, Zari.”

With that, Sara walked backwards out of the kitchen with the grace of someone who knew the room by memory, maintaining eye contact until she was finally gone. This was shortly followed by the sound of Mrs. Duncan bidding the ladies goodbye, the door opening and slamming shut. 

John stood in the middle of the kitchen, rendered stunned with his mouth agape. He didn’t know how to process what he’d just seen. How did so much manage to happen while he was gone? “What the hell just happened?”

Zari sighed. “Long story short, my ladies look an awful lot like Sara, Ava, Nora, Mona, and Astra. Trust me, it’s way creepier than it sounds.”

“First of all,” John said, pointing at where the Sara look-alike had previously been. “They may share the same face, but whoever that was _wasn’t_ Sara Lance. And I guarantee the others are copies too.”

Zari appeared disappointed but not surprised by this statement. “How do you know?”

John shrugged as if it was obvious. “Well for starters, she didn’t blink once.”

“None of them blink,” Zari told him. “They don’t eat or drink either. And the one who looks like Ava touched a hot tea kettle and didn’t feel pain.”

“Did you see the Sara look-alike’s shadow?” John asked. “It was facing the wrong direction. And that window?” He touched the four-paned window above the sink, where his and Zari’s reflections stared back at them. “We can see ourselves. But _Sara’s_ reflection didn’t show up in the glass.”

Zari’s brows shot up, seemingly impressed by his perception. “You noticed all that from a thirty second encounter?”

“Of course I did,” John answered haughtily. Sometimes he forgot most people weren’t in tune with the mystical world. “These are all telltale signs of a parallel plane of existence.” 

“So we’re in a parallel universe?” Zari inquired, clearly not believing this.

John tilted his head. “Maybe. Maybe not. It would definitely complicate things, though. Parallel dimensions are a nasty business.”

Unbeknownst to Zari, John’s mind was reeling with possibilities. Along with the other bizarre circumstances he’s noticed around London, he wasn’t expecting something to this degree. The presence of Zari’s ladies and even Chas could indicate there were other look-alikes walking about. If so, why? And were they dangerous?

Mrs. Duncan’s sudden entrance into the kitchen brought John’s torrent of thoughts to a standstill when she announced, “Pardon the interruption, but Dr. White requests to speak to ye both before he leaves.”

John and Zari exchanged questioning glances, silently asking each other what they should do. Zari was the first to react, looping her arm through John’s and whispering, “Follow my lead.”

John trusted Zari to take control of the situation and allowed her to lead him all the way into the foyer, where the dark figure of Jack the Ripper stood waiting for them. He now understood why Zari was so shaken by his arrival. 

The infamous Leather Apron was a chilling individual to behold. His eyes were inky black pools of despair, his thin lips pressed into a harsh line and his grayish skin pulled taut over skeletal facial features. The Ripper’s overcoat cloaked the majority of his body, making him truly resemble the spectre the press made him out to be. 

As John and Zari approached him, the Ripper’s attention was instantly lured by Zari, his depthless eyes greedily drinking her in like a hunter assessing his prey.

John had never despised another human being so quickly.

Acting on instinct, John’s arm wrapped itself around Zari’s waist, tugging her body protectively against him. The Ripper watched this interaction with keen interest. “Dr. White, you wanted to see us?” John asked sharply, watching the man before him as if to say, _I dare you to do something. I know who you really are._

Dr. White offered a tight smile before returning to a state of solemn professionalism. “Yes, Mr. Constantine. I wanted to inform your wife of her maid’s condition. I believe she has a rather serious infection of the lungs. I suspect it is consumption.”

“Tuberculosis?” Zari asked, her brow furrowing with concern. “Is it...fatal?”

“I’m afraid so, madam. But I believe I have bought Miss Catherine some time by prescribing some medicines to lessen her pain. Your housekeeper sent her home for the day for some much-needed bedrest. You were wise to contact me when you did, or I fear your maid would have continued to suffer.” Then, Dr. White’s stare softened as he regarded Zari more closely. “I hope you do not find this improper, madam, but Miss Catherine is most fortunate to have a mistress that is so kind and attentive to her health.”

Zari managed a polite smile, clearly uncomfortable by the Ripper’s compliment. “It’s no trouble, really. I’m just worried about Catherine.”

Dr. White nodded in understanding before continuing, “You know, I find it so endearing to encounter a woman of your caliber, Mrs. Constantine. Women are so rarely compassionate _and_ beautiful, and yet it appears you possess both qualities. What a kind, lovely face you have.” The Ripper paused, a strange faraway look transforming his expression. “No one remembers my face.”

John’s free hand clenched at his side, his other arm tightening around Zari, whose body had gone completely rigid. He gently pushed Zari behind him, shielding her from the Ripper’s line of sight. “It’s getting late, Doctor. I think it’s time for you to go.”

Something dark passed over Dr. White’s features before he became impassive again, bending at the waist into a respectful bow. “Of course, Mr. Constantine. I didn't mean to overstay my welcome. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Neither John nor Zari had the amicability to wish the Ripper farewell, all but ushering the doctor out the front door. They watched as he slipped into the night as seamlessly as he came, his cloak concealing his path from the watchful eye of the starry heavens. John couldn’t bear to imagine what Dr. White’s plans were for the evening.

“Do you feel it too?” Zari whispered while she and John stood in the open doorway, shivering from the cool night air. “The guilt over letting him walk away?”

John didn’t realize his arm was still wrapped snugly around Zari’s waist. Instead of letting her go, he squeezed her tighter. “Aye. I do.”

The pair remained in comfortable silence for a while, reminiscing over the afternoon’s events. It wasn’t until Zari stirred against him that John glanced over and found her already looking at him. They shared a knowing smile.

“You know, he said the exact same thing to me the first time we met. ‘ _No one remembers my face_ ,’” Zari quoted, eyeing the place where the Ripper disappeared down the street as if his presence still lingered. “I find it ironic he believes that.”

“How so?”

Zari sighed deeply. “You don’t simply forget a face like Jack the Ripper’s.”

* * *

Later that night, Zari jerked awake from her blissful few hours of beauty rest to an explosion.

_What sort of idiot was up at this ungodly hour?_

When she realized the sofa across the bedroom was unoccupied, she immediately knew what could have caused the commotion and groaned. 

_Right_ , Zari thought. _That would be my idiot._

She dragged herself out of bed, not even bothering to slip on a robe over her nightgown or house shoes, storming across the hall and banging on the door to John’s study. It took nearly a whole minute for him to answer. Zari heard John on the other side of the door tending to whatever mess he made, cursing loudly. 

When the door finally swung open, Zari had to bite back a laugh as she took in John’s appearance. He was completely disheveled, his tie hanging loose around his collar and his sleeves unevenly rolled up to his elbows. There was a scorch mark on his halfway-unbuttoned shirt and a suspicious black smear on his cheek.

“Zari,” John greeted nonchalantly. He was purposely blocking the door, preventing her from seeing inside. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I could say the same thing to you,” Zari countered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Our neighbors would agree that _you_ should be asleep.”

John’s expression fell. “I’m assuming you heard the explosion?”

“John, I think the entirety of _England_ heard it. Now, are you going to move and show me what the hell you’re doing?” 

John sighed and stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “By all means.”

Zari proceeded to stroll into the room and automatically stopped in her tracks before she could step on a pile of bones. The first thing she noticed were the scorch marks along the walls, then the charred empty space where she swore an armchair used to be, and finally the huge pentagram drawn in chalk on the hardwood floor with candles arranged at each point. 

John’s study was a disaster, which was why he was usually the only one who stepped foot in here. Even their own housekeeper avoided it. 

“Let me guess,” Zari said, surveying the damage and trying not to laugh. “You were trying to open a portal again.” 

“What do you think I’ve been doing since we got here?” 

Zari sighed. Not this conversation again. “Didn’t we agree that you would stop this? We’ve established that opening a portal is impossible, for whatever reason, and every time you try anyway something goes wrong.”

“I get that—“ John attempted to explain. 

“Do you?” Zari interrupted, frustration beginning to bubble within her. “Look, I get how you are. You don’t want to stop until you find a solution. But things are actually halfway decent right now. We have a roof over our heads, decent-paying jobs, lives that aren’t constantly in jeopardy. Not only that, but Behrad is _alive_ and Astra is happy in this reality, just like we wanted all along. Don’t you think you should give yourself a break before you hurt yourself?”

“No, I don’t,” John snapped. “Aren’t you forgetting that we’re trapped over 130 years in the past and there’s a possibility we may never return home? Doesn’t that frighten you at all?”

“Not anymore,” Zari admitted, her voice strained. She’s never dared voice these thoughts aloud, but now her words were out in the open, they sounded even crazier than they did in her head. “John, I haven’t been this happy since before Behrad died. Is that wrong?”

“We don’t belong here. You know that.”

“Admit it. You don’t hate living here either.”

John laughed incredulously. “You don’t expect me to believe you _actually_ want us to stay here for the rest of our lives, do you?” 

“Why not?” Zari blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Zari, you’re living a bloody _lie_ ,” John told her, shaking her by her shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot and desperate. “Snap out of it! This is a fake reality Charlie created for us to keep us comfortable. Sure, we have a nice big house and your brother is alive and well. But none of it is real. Do you really want a life of mundane domesticity, having tea parties with your friends and wearing pretty dresses to fill the void? Do you like pretending to be my doting little housewife?”

Suddenly overcome by anger, Zari let out a growl and swung her open palm toward John’s face, which he caught with ease. When she tried to hit him again with her other hand, John pinned her wrists together in front of her body. “You’re such a _bastard!"_

“Tell me something I don’t know, sweetheart,” John sneered. 

Zari struggled against his grip. “Weren’t _you_ the one who said we should listen to Charlie and wait until she comes for us?”

“I was just saying that to comfort you, luv,” John countered, sporting that damned smirk of his. “Couldn’t let you think I was scared or something.”

“Oh, spare me your bullshit,” Zari snapped, finally wrenching her wrists free and stepping away from him. “Seeing you scared would’ve been a lot more comforting than you trying to maintain your precious savior complex.”

A hush fell over the study, John’s chest heaving as he and Zari fiercely glared at each other. He slowly advanced toward her again, snapping his fingers to extinguish the candles positioned around the pentagram. “I can’t sort this mess out on my own,” John finally confessed with difficulty, reluctantly meeting Zari’s gaze. She knew his admittance of needing help was a big deal. “But with you, maybe we don’t have to wait for Charlie and we can find our own way home. You have to admit, we make a brilliant team.” 

Neither realized they had unconsciously closed the distance between them. The mood in the room had drastically changed in a matter of seconds. Zari found herself forgetting why she and John were even fighting in the first place; it suddenly didn’t matter anymore. 

Zari’s hands had drifted back to her sides, feeling a jolt when John’s fingertips ever so slightly brushed against hers. She dared to test the waters and grasped his hands, rubbing her thumb back and forth across his knuckles. “We do, don’t we?” she whispered, peering up at him through her eyelashes. 

They started to lean in at the same time, and Zari thought, _This is it. We’re finally going to continue where we left off earlier._

Their bodies touched, causing them both to emit small gasps. Zari’s eyes fluttered and her hands found purchase on John’s chest, her fingers meeting the skin peeking through his unbuttoned shirt. She felt the rumble of John’s soft groan at her touch. His hands flew to his chest to press her hands harder against him, making her feel his thundering heartbeat. Their lips met in a gentle dance for a single moment until...

John released a shaky sigh and pulled away, leaning his forehead against Zari’s. His expression was pained as if it physically hurt to prevent himself from kissing her more. “Are you sure you want this?” he muttered, his warm breath hitting Zari’s parted lips. 

Zari had never heard John sound so vulnerable before. She placed a gentle hand against his cheek, caressing his stubbled skin. “Do _you_ want this?”

“More than I probably should,” John replied.

Zari smiled and glanced down, feeling herself blush. She desperately wanted what was happening between them to continue, but she could feel the symptoms of exhaustion weighing heavily in her chest, blurring the edges of her vision. What she really craved was for John to hold her.

“Come to bed with me, John,” Zari ordered, tugging insistently on John’s hand for him to follow her out of his wrecked study. 

When they reached the bedroom, John chuckled lowly and asked, “Do you mean _bed_ or bed?”

Zari laughed and crawled onto the bed, her body sprawled out suggestively as she patted the space beside her. “Just bed. But I expect to be cuddled.”

This time, John didn’t question whether Zari was sure about this. Nor did he mention the fact that this was the first time they would be sleeping in the same bed together. Wordlessly, John shed his ruined shirt and climbed into bed after Zari, his warm chest pressing against her back.

As if they’d done this countless times before, John’s arm settled across Zari’s stomach and Zari intertwined their fingers together, their wedding bands touching. Soon they were both fast asleep before either of them could utter goodnight. 


	8. As Glorious To This Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild mature content near the end of the chapter

**_“How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,_ **

**_Like softest music to attending ears!”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ **

_Snip_. “Sit still.”

“I’ve _been_ sitting still since the last five bloody times you said something.”

 _Snip, snip, snip._ “Then why is your leg bouncing up and down?”

“My arse is asleep,” John complained as Zari bent down at eye level before the chair he sat in to gain a better vantage point of the front of his hair. “I can cut my own hair, you know.”

“I know. But I do a much better job,” Zari told him, meeting his glare with a wink. “Besides, I need you to look your best for tonight.”

“Remind me again why my presence at _your_ fake friend’s birthday shindig is necessary?”

“Okay, first off,” Zari replied, gesturing at the extravagant invitation on the vanity with the comb in her hand. Ava’s name on the card was embellished in gold foil and flowers; someone else had obviously designed the invitations. “It’s a _soirée_ , not a shindig. You make it sound like we’re going to a hoedown or something. And you’re coming with me because we have a public image to protect.”

“You know none of that matters, right?” John countered, spitting out a stray hair caught in his mouth. “Because our lives here aren’t real, your friends included?”

Zari pursed her lips and snipped a couple of more hairs. “Real or not real, I’ll be damned if I show up to a party alone.”

John rolled his eyes. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Cinderella, but I’m not playing Prince Charming for a bloody ball. I’m sure Mrs. Duncan can magic you up a fancy gown and you’ll have a grand old time without me. Better yet, ask Chas to take you. For such a tall bloke, he’s pretty light on his feet.” 

“I’m sorry, do you _want_ to cause a scandal?” Zari asked incredulously, playfully brandishing her scissors in a threatening manner. “Take it from someone who’s been in the limelight for most of her life. Ruining your reputation isn’t fun.”

“You care far too much about what people think of you.”

Zari set the comb and scissors down. “If that was supposed to offend me, you failed miserably.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

Growing irritated by John’s attitude, Zari shot him an icy glare when he wasn’t looking and made a squeezing motion with her hands, pretending to strangle him. All John ever did most days was whatever the hell he did at work or hide away in his study researching spells, and quite frankly Zari was becoming sick of staying caged in this house waiting for a miracle. Any excuse to go out and take her mind off things was good enough for her. 

Perhaps it was Zari’s pride telling her how pathetic it would look for her to be seen at an event without a man by her side. Or maybe she just genuinely wanted to spend time with John.

Either way, if she was going to convince the grumpy warlock to join her this evening, she would need to make Ava’s birthday soirée seem more appealing to his motives. And she had the perfect idea.

“You know,” Zari began slowly, feigning nonchalance. “If you look at it this way, tonight may be an opportunity for us to see if we can find out anything from whoever’s impersonating the Legends. And the best way to do that is by spending time with them.” 

A spark of realization flashed in John’s eyes, a sign that his mind was reeling. “You might be onto something there, luv. It wouldn’t hurt to scope the place out, gather intel. If my suspicions are correct, and these imposters aren’t from this world...they may just be the key to traveling back to our own time.”

Zari felt a glimmer of hope at the thought of returning home and couldn’t resist grinning with excitement. “That’s...actually a really good idea, John.”

“Well, as an experienced conman,” John boasted, puffing his chest arrogantly. “Coercing people into spilling information for my personal gain is sort of where I excel best.” 

“Really? I thought being a ‘ _nasty piece of work_ ’ was where you excelled best.” 

John scowled at Zari’s intentionally poor interpretation of him. “Now, that’s just offensive.”

Zari ducked her head and giggled, her fingers pausing as they ran through John’s sandy blonde locks to check if the ends were even. When she glanced back up, she noticed their suggestive proximity and froze. Zari was crouched in front of John with her hands buried in his hair while he watched her carefully, assessing her every move. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s distracting.”

John grinned not-so-innocently. “How am I looking at you, luv?”

Zari willed herself to focus on anything but John’s dark gaze. “Like you’re thinking indecent thoughts about me.”

“And what if I am?” 

This sent a rush of heat straight to Zari’s lower belly that made her bite her lip. “Yeah?” she purred, daring to step forward and plant herself comfortably on John’s lap. “What are you thinking?”

John clearly welcomed their new position, his hands settling on the curves of Zari’s waist. Even through the layers of her day dress, corset, and chemise, she could still feel the warmth of his palms. His eyes darted to her lips as he murmured, “That we should continue what we started the other night.”

“I like the way you think,” Zari whispered, meeting John halfway and fully capturing his lips with hers.

John groaned deeply against Zari’s mouth and gathered her in his arms, the action prompting her to deepen the kiss. His hands glided up Zari’s back until they reached her hair, which she was thankful she left loose when his fingers buried themselves in her curls. Zari’s hands slipped underneath the edges of John’s untucked shirt as she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue, urging his mouth to open for her. He tasted of his morning tea with a hint of something stronger, but at that moment Zari didn’t mind. She craved more of him.

The idea of the bed across the room, in which they now both found themselves sleeping each night, suddenly seemed very tempting. 

Zari shivered as John followed the slope of her shoulders and the column of her neck until his hands rested on top of hers, which had traveled to his jaw. She felt John tense slightly when he touched her wedding ring and pulled away from the kiss with an audible pop.

“What is it?” Zari asked breathlessly, caressing the rough stubble on his jaw.

“Nothing, luv,” John replied, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her inner wrist, a gesture so intimate that Zari gasped. “Still getting used to _this_ , is all.” His calloused thumb skimmed over the ring on her finger. 

“Me too,” Zari admitted, letting out a weak chuckle. “Being fake married to me isn’t _that_ bad, is it?”

A crease formed between John’s brows as his eyes flickered over Zari’s face, his features gradually softening as if he was seeing her in a new light. “It wasn’t ideal at first, but now I’m starting to think otherwise.”

Zari felt her heartbeat quicken and glanced away to hide how much John was affecting her. _Damn him_ for his ability to catch her off guard, something she considered herself immune to after years of men pining for her attention. 

Was his comment nothing more than heedless flirtation that was typical for his character, or was he allowing Zari to see a rare glimpse of sincerity? For a man such as John Constantine, it was difficult to tell when he was being heartfelt. He seldom revealed things about himself and qualities of his nature were still shrouded in mystery, which frustrated Zari to no end.

Zari left virtually no page of her story unturned as an influencer, whereas John took great care in keeping the deepest parts of himself hidden. Perhaps this was why she found him so impossibly appealing.

One thing was certain, though. Everyday, Zari found herself losing the ever-present battle with her heart not to fall for this insufferable man.

“I suppose I don’t _exactly_ hate being your fake wife either,” Zari told him, looping her arms around John’s neck. She delighted in the way his breath hitched.

While neither had directly expressed their interest in each other, both were well aware of what they were implying. Evinced by the smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth, Zari could tell John was about to provide a smart remark until they heard a sharp knock on the bedroom door. 

“Mistress?” Catherine’s soft voice inquired. “May I have a word?”

“I’ll be right there,” Zari replied, letting out a strangled gasp when John unexpectedly latched his mouth onto the pulse point on her neck. 

“Is everything alright, miss?” Catherine asked, concerned. “I can come back…”

“Tell her to shove off,” John muttered, preventing Zari from leaving his lap by tightening his hold on her.

“Just a moment, Catherine! _John_ ,” Zari all but whined, biting back a moan when John’s mouth traveled to her earlobe. “Please...I have to start getting ready for tonight. And if you leave a mark, I will _kill you_.”

John chuckled huskily. “You’re no fun,” he whispered in Zari’s ear before he reluctantly unwound his arms from her waist, letting her scramble off him. 

Zari couldn’t resist drinking in John’s deliciously disheveled state, his eyes blown wide with arousal, his freshly-trimmed hair untamed, his waistcoat and button-up shirt askew. More evidence of his desire was apparent when her gaze inadvertently roamed downward to his lap. She tried to ignore her own discomfort coiling hotly in her gut. 

“How do we keep finding ourselves in this situation?” Zari mused, a quiet laugh escaping her lips as she absentmindedly smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. 

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” John grumbled, standing to sweep the stray hairs off his clothes. “For such a small household, you would think we wouldn’t get bloody interrupted so often.”

Grinning coyly, Zari tugged John toward her by his waistcoat and gave him another chaste kiss before she departed to get ready, letting her lips linger with a promise: _The next time we’re alone, things may escalate beyond kissing._ The mere thought sent a thrill of anticipation through Zari’s core.

“I expect you to be dressed in an hour,” Zari whispered against John’s mouth as she pulled away. “You’re taking me to the ball.”

This time John did not protest. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Not this time.” As she ventured to the door, Zari glanced over her shoulder and shared a knowing look with John full of unspoken words, adding, “And just so you know, John, we’ll have our moment soon. Uninterrupted.”

* * *

“I have finished mending your gown for tonight,” Catherine said as Zari joined her in the hallway. “Would you like assistance getting dressed?”

Zari passed up her handmaid’s offer despite knowing how difficult it was to get dressed by herself. “Mrs. Duncan and I can manage. You don’t need to tax yourself too much. How is your breathing, by the way?”

Catherine mustered a deep, albeit wheezy breath. “I have my good days and bad days, miss.”

“Well, you sound better than you have in weeks. No coughing up blood?” When Catherine shook her head, Zari continued, “Good. You should go visit your son tonight. The doctor said you weren’t contagious at this stage of the infection, right?”

“Yes, miss. But it is not Friday and I have yet to be paid,” Catherine protested. “My sister will ask for money.”

Zari sighed and reached into one of her pockets, which she’d specifically requested Catherine to sew into all her dresses, retrieving a handful of coins without counting them. “There. Now will you go see Thomas?”

Catherine’s eyes widened in disbelief as Zari deposited the money in her hands. “Mistress, I cannot accept this amount. This is enough to cover two month’s worth of food…"

“Nonsense. You need it more than I do,” Zari replied, brushing off her objection. 

“But won’t your husband disapprove of you giving away so much money to a servant?”

Zari smiled wickedly and leaned close to whisper, “What John doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Think of this as our little secret.”

Catherine’s eyes watered and she threw her arms around Zari, pulling away when she realized her place. “Apologies, miss. I’m just so thankful for your generosity.”

“Just be back before morning,” Zari gently reminded her. “You may be sick, but Mrs. Duncan still hates it when you’re late.”

“Of course, mistress,” Catherine promised, leading Zari to another room where the majority of her gowns were stored. It was undoubtedly Zari’s favorite room in the house. “I did my best with the gold fabric you requested. Is it satisfactory?”

The luxurious rose gold bustle ball gown displayed on the mannequin was more than Zari had asked for, a true exhibition of Catherine’s talent with a needle and thread. Zari stood in the doorway in awe for a moment before entering the room. “Catherine, you’ve outdone yourself. I swear, you should be designing dresses for the queen.”

Catherine giggled as she helped Zari undress and slip the voluminous gown with its heavy skirts over her head, fastening the bodice at the front. “You flatter me, mistress. I daresay you will be the most striking figure at the ball.”

* * *

Sara had clearly disregarded Ava’s request for a modest birthday with a few close friends, opting to invite nearly everyone in London with social importance. Zari was amazed Sara managed to organize this event on such short notice without the use of social media.

As John led her through a set of towering oak double doors, the grand ballroom booked for the evening quite literally stole Zari’s breath away. The space was a sea of opulence and luxury. A half a dozen crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the magnificent arched ceiling, decorated with murals depicting Greek scenes of love. A series of Corinthian pilasters and mirrored panels spanned the length of the glittering gold walls. The floor was so polished that it resembled a sheet of ice. 

Gentlemen sported their most dapper suits, while the women sparkled like gemstones and swirled throughout the ballroom in rich shades of emerald, amethyst, and sapphire. Low chatter and laughter accompanied the soft melodies played by a string quartet. The dizzying scent of artificial perfume and jasmine and rose from the flower arrangements wafted among the partygoers. 

Zari couldn’t stop glancing at John, who kept stealing glimpses at her as well. He was undoubtedly dashing tonight in his suit, mastering the role of his gentleman persona with every stride he took. But underneath his stony mask of indifference, Zari could tell John was equally overwhelmed by the scene before them. She too felt swallowed by this glimmering world of splendor. 

“You’ve been staring at me since we left the house,” Zari teased, noticing John subtly glance away. “I know I look nice, but surely I haven’t rendered the unshakable John Constantine speechless.”

John chuckled under his breath, his eyes slowly savoring Zari’s appearance. “You look amazing, luv. Truly.”

Zari smirked and flippantly tossed her hair aside. “You’re damn right I do.”

Zari’s rose gold satin gown shone brightly in the candlelight from the chandeliers above them. The full polonaise skirt was overlaid by a layer of gold tulle embroidered with wildflowers, the puff sleeves made of silk organza. A satin belt wrapped around the waist and formed a bow at the back. Silk ivory gloves covered the length of Zari’s arms, paired with a matching diamond necklace and earrings. Half her hair was pinned up while the rest was artfully arranged in ringlets over her shoulder.

Guests greeted Zari and John left and right, exchanging respectful bows and curtsies as they navigated the room. They don’t know when it happened, but the pair had somehow stopped faltering whenever they introduced themselves as husband and wife. It became almost a natural reflex, one that neither of them questioned. 

Spotting Sara and Ava across the ballroom, Zari linked her arm through John’s. “We should say hello to our hosts,” she said, urging him along in their direction.

John snatched a flute of champagne from a tray carried by a passing servant, taking a long sip. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sara and Ava were speaking in hushed whispers when Zari and John approached, seemingly in the middle of a grave conversation. When Zari cleared her throat, Sara turned and regarded them with graceful curtsy, acting like nothing was amiss. 

“Oh, Zari, you look absolutely ravishing tonight!” Sara gasped, admiring Zari’s dress in awe. The feisty blonde was a vision in her own sleeveless red gown. She did a double take at John. “I must confess, Mr. Constantine, I am shocked to see you at such an occasion. A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.”

“Just as shocked to be here as you are,” John replied, earning a discreet smack on the arm from Zari. He cleared his throat and acknowledged Ava with a stiff nod. “Sharpie, good to see you. You’ve thrown together quite the rager here.”

“Oh, it was all Sara’s idea,” Ava replied, wrapping an arm around her lover’s waist. “I was not expecting this to be quite so… _lavish,_ but Sara insisted I deserve nothing but the best.”

“And I meant it,” Sara told her, pressing a kiss to Ava’s cheek. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Zari started to smile at the couple’s display of affection, but remembered they weren’t real. “So...if you don’t mind me asking, what were you two talking about before? Seemed pretty serious.”

Sara rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “We were discussing Jack the Ripper, of course. Ava has become obsessed with a serial killer.”

“I am _not_ obsessed,” Ava retorted. “I am merely invested in the case. Aren’t you curious about his identity, or what possesses a man to commit such atrocities?”

“How do we know he is a man and not a murderous phantom?” Sara joked. 

Ava snorted. “You sound just like the press.”

“Actually, my husband believes the Ripper is no ordinary man,” said Nora, who had somehow crept into the conversation alongside Mona and an all-too familiar gentleman. Zari felt John stiffen beside her. 

“What _do_ you think, Lord Raymond?” Sara asked the dark-haired man that looked like Ray Palmer. “As a scientist, you must be dying to share your opinion.”

Lord Raymond’s eyes twinkled with excitement, possessing both a boyish warmth about him with a hint of academic arrogance. “Well, Miss Lance, no one with the Ripper’s surgical prowess could be considered ordinary. He _has_ to be a doctor. Someone with his kind of anatomical knowledge to remove the organs from his victims makes an even more dangerous murderer, the likes of which we have never seen.”

“And what sort of murderer does that make him, Lord Raymond?” Mona inquired.

“One that will not stop,” Lord Raymond replied matter-of-factly, addressing the group. “Now that the Ripper has gained notoriety throughout London, committing a couple of murders will not be enough. I fear this dark storm upon our city has only begun.”

A terrible sense of dread settled heavily in Zari’s gut. She felt as though Lord Raymond had given them a grim omen of what was to come.

Thankfully John, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, changed the subject by asking, “Speaking of doctors, do any of you know a Dr. White by chance?”

“The doctor in Whitechapel?” Ava questioned. “Why do you ask?”

Of course they couldn’t allude to Jack the Ripper’s true identity, especially not in front of people they distrusted. But Zari wanted to know more about the Ripper’s daily activities. “We’re only curious about the man,” she explained on behalf of herself and John. “We want to know if he’s reliable...for the welfare of my sick handmaid.”

“I have heard Dr. White is a quiet, odd sort of character,” Mona said. “Women claim he makes them uncomfortable. I never met the man, but I hope I never encounter him.”

Zari shuddered. “I wish I could say the same.”

“Perhaps if Dr. White is as disturbing as they say, he could very well be our serial killer,” Lord Raymond quipped, earning a round of laughter from his companions. Zari felt a chill course up her spine.

_Oh, if only they knew._

“ _Anyway_ ,” Zari announced loudly as she turned to John, who was visibly restless and kept glancing at the doors leading out onto the terrace, mostly likely needing a smoke break. “John, do you mind grabbing me a non-alcoholic refreshment?”

John blinked and shook his head, as if snapping himself out of a daze. He was clearly unsettled by conversing with these strangers who shared their friend’s faces. “Sure, luv. Be back in a tick,” he told her, patting her hand before he disappeared among the swarm of partygoers. 

“Forgive me if this offends you,” Ava said, touching Zari’s arm to gain her attention. “But is Mr. Constantine always so…”

“Weird?” Zari supplied. “Yes. Yes he is.”

Mona laughed. “You are positively in love with your husband.” 

This completely caught Zari off guard. She doesn’t realize she was staring at John as he made his way across the ballroom. “What? Why do you say that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mona replied, following Zari’s gaze. “You have yet to take your eyes off Mr. Constantine since he parted from you.”

“I…” Zari stammered to respond, uncomfortable by Mona’s clever intuition. She grew more flustered by the second and was painfully aware of the others watching her reaction.

“Most people marry to please their families or to gain fortune,” Nora told her, followed by mutters of agreement from the others. “But you defied the wishes of your family and turned your cheek to what society expected of you. Like Raymond and I, you married for love.”

Zari didn’t know how to respond, so she told the partial truth. “Well, I wouldn’t say I had a _complete_ say in a matter.”

Ava luckily steered the topic away from marriage when she pointed across the ballroom and said, “Look, Zari. Your brother has arrived with Lady Astra.”

Zari’s head snapped in the direction Ava was indicating. She was suddenly overcome with a swell of joy at the sight of her baby brother huddled by the dessert table with Astra and a pair of men resembling Nate and Mick. It was bizarre seeing Behrad wear a tailored suit instead of a patterned shirt or graphic tee, his long dark curls stylishly slicked back. The way this imposter carried himself with the prestige of an heir to a vast fortune rather than a superhero/stoner was a clear indication that he wasn’t _her_ Behrad, despite how much Zari longed for him to be real. 

Sara and Ava excused themselves to welcome more of Ava’s guests while Lord Raymond and Nora headed to the dancefloor, leaving Mona to guide Zari by the arm toward Behrad’s social circle. Zari felt numb even as Behrad beamed at her arrival and enveloped her in a loving embrace.

“Zari joon,” said Behrad, squeezing her tightly. Much to Zari’s dismay, he even _smelled_ like the real Behrad. As he pulled away, he frowned and brushed his thumb along Zari’s cheek. “Why the tears, sister? Has it been so long since we were last reunited?”

Zari quickly wiped away her tears and managed what she hoped was a convincing grin. “I’m just happy to see you, is all. You look well, Behrad joon.”

“I should hope so,” Behrad replied, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Ever since Maman and Baba stopped pressuring me to find a wife, I feel as light as a feather.”

 _Sounds about right_ , Zari thought. _Even in this reality, Maman and Baba were overly-invested in their love lives._

“That’s right, I heard about your engagement,” Zari said, nodding toward Astra, who was conversing amicably with Mona and Mick. Seeing Astra act so cordially was strange considering the last time Zari encountered her, she had betrayed the Legends to side with Charlie’s sisters. 

“Yes, our beloved Behrad is all grown up and no longer a bachelor,” the handsomely-dressed man favoring Nate butted in, patting Behrad on the back in a brotherly manner. He bowed before Zari, offering her a kind smile. “Lord Nathaniel Heywood, at your service. I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting my dearest friend’s lovely sister. I am an ardent admirer of your work, _Z Tarazi_.”

Zari was surprised that someone like Lord Nathaniel, a _man_ , knew of her literary work. “You referred to me by my pseudonym, so I know you must be legitimate.”

Lord Nathaniel chuckled, pressing a light kiss to Zari’s knuckles when she presented him her hand. “Beautiful _and_ charming. It would appear your reputation precedes you.”

Zari raised a brow. “And what _do_ people say about me?”

“We can discuss over a drink, perhaps. May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

Before Zari could politely decline, John seemed to materialize out of thin air at her side, his expression hardened with evident jealousy. Judging by the way he wrapped a possessive arm around Zari’s waist, John had overheard her and Lord Nathaniel’s conversation. His behavior took Zari by surprise.

“There you are, luv,” John said, handing Zari a glass of bubbly liquid with a strained smile. “The only drink I could find in this bloody place besides booze was cider. Hope that’s alright.”

“That’s perfect,” Zari told him, carefully sipping the warm cider. “I was just having a pleasant chat with Behrad and Lord Nathaniel.”

“I noticed,” John replied, surveying the two men with suspicion, particularly Lord Nathaniel. There was a steely edge to his tone. “Thank you for entertaining my wife while I was gone.”

Lord Nathaniel matched John’s callous gaze. “Yes, I enjoyed it very much.”

Zari sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly struck by a memory of her fake parents trying to persuade her to marry a certain wealthy nobleman—Lord Nathaniel. She realized John probably had this same realization. It was no wonder he detested this version of Nate.

Sensing the tension building between John and Nathaniel, Behrad let out a lighthearted chuckle as the musicians began playing a lively polka. “Zari, I _insist_ you join me for a dance.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Zari knew it was probably a terrible idea leaving John and Nathaniel alone.

“You two have fun,” John said curtly, avoiding Zari’s questioning stare. “I’m slipping out for a smoke.” With that, he promptly stormed off in the direction of the outdoor terrace. 

Zari started to follow him when Behrad gently touched her arm and stopped her. “I believe he needs space, dear sister.”

“I’m sorry about...whatever that was,” Zari told him, waiting until Lord Natheniel excused himself and was safely out of earshot. “I’ve never seen John get so jealous before.”

Behrad linked his arm through Zari’s and escorted her to the dancefloor, where a large crowd had gathered to step in time with the upbeat music. “I assure you, your husband has no reason to be envious of Lord Nathaniel. I will admit he can be flirtatious at times, but his romantic interests are elsewhere.”

“Really?” Zari asked, joining hands with Behrad and finding the correct rhythm to the fast-paced polka. The music was infectious and brought a pleased smile to her face. “With who?”

“Well…” Behrad blushed and glanced in the direction of Lord Nathaniel, who waved at him across the ballroom. The way the two men looked at each other was quite obvious.

Zari’s eyes widened and she nearly tripped over her feet when Behrad spun her. “Wait, _you and Nathaniel?_ What about Astra?” She definitely did not see this coming.

Behrad made a lowering motion with his hands, indicating Zari should tone down her voice. “Not so loud, Zari!” he hissed, eyes darting warily at the surrounding dancers. “Astra already knows. Our engagement is a ploy so that she may pursue her freedom and I can be with Nathaniel. Maman and Baba can never know I am having an affair with my former professor.” 

Zari had a difficult time processing this information. “Does anyone else know?”

“Only my closest companions.” Hurt briefly flashed across Behrad’s face. “Do you not approve?”

“What? Of course I do!” Zari assured him. “If Lord Nathaniel makes you happy, I wholeheartedly support you.”

Behrad’s features softened with relief, suddenly reminding Zari of the way _her_ Behrad always sought approval from their parents, desperate to escape the shadow of his famous older sister. Zari’s heart ached every time she had to remind herself this man standing before her was an imposter.

As the music crescendoed and quickened, Zari became lost in the dance and found herself laughing giddily with Behrad as they skipped and circled around the other dancers. She grew dizzy from being twirled around so many times and struggled to breathe in her tight bodice, but the jubilant expression on Behrad’s face made her persevere.

Perhaps just for this moment, Zari could pretend this was real.

* * *

The soft click of John opening and shutting his lighter drowned out the lively polka music inside the ballroom.

He knew coming here tonight was a mistake, and yet when had he ever been able to refuse Zari Tarazi?

John had a perfect view of the dancers from his spot on the vacant terrace, his eyes zeroing in on the woman he longed to join. Zari was glowing as she floated across the dancefloor, throwing her head back and laughing as Behrad spun her around to and fro. At least she was content, despite the fact that she was dancing with a stranger wearing her dead brother’s face. 

This was not part of their mission tonight, and yet John couldn’t bring himself to intrude on Zari’s happiness. She was in her element. Events like this were where she thrived, shining like a beacon to everyone around her. 

No wonder Lord Nathaniel flocked to her like an animal in heat. 

Cringing at the bitter taste that filled his mouth, John downed his second glass of champagne—or was it his third?—and lit another cigarette. He knew Zari would disapprove and could hear her scolding him in the back of his mind, but the voice of his addiction was much louder. And right now, he would do anything to quell the babel of emotions that roiled through him like an angry sea. 

John was temporarily satisfied with each long drag of his cigarette, while the champagne filled his chest with pleasurable warmth. Despite his state of inebriation, he was still able to perceive the presence of a gentleman lurking nearby.

“Why the troubled face, handsome?” the man asked in a smooth, familiar New Orleans accent.

“Who wants to know?” John inquired, squinting at the tall figure cloaked in darkness.

The dapper gentleman wearing a top hat slowly emerged into the moonlight, his shoes clicking ominously against the ground. When his dark, handsome features were fully visible, John’s entire body went rigid and he dropped his lighter off the terrace. “ _Des?_ ”

Desmond chuckled deeply, leaning casually against the railing. “Only my friends call me that, but I don’t mind the sound of it from your lips.”

John was too stunned to react to his flirtatious advances. He had to assure himself this version of Desmond wasn’t his former lover he doomed to hell, though the image of Neron’s grotesque face burned starkly in his memory. 

“Why do you regard me with such sadness?” Desmond inquired, his head tilted in wonder as he studied John closely. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, and yet you look at me as though I am lost to you.”

“ _I’m not bloody dealing with this right now,_ ” John murmured under his breath, desperate to flee this interaction. As he attempted to brush past Desmond, the man seized John’s arm in an iron grip and held him back. 

“I know you’re not from this world, John Constantine,” Desmond whispered in his ear. 

John wrenched his arm out of Desmond's grasp and recoiled. “I could say the same to you,” he countered.

Desmond’s black eyes gleamed with amusement. “You know nothing of what you are implying.”

“What the hell are you?” John demanded, grabbing the lapels of Desmond’s suit. He attempted to pry into the man’s mind, making him more willing to divulge information. “Where did you come from? _Answer me_.”

“That little trick won’t work on me” Desmond crooned in a singsong voice, flashing a devilish grin that revealed sharpened incisors. “Rest assured, my friend. All will be revealed in due time. Oh, that reminds me.” Something menacing passed over his expression. “Tell your wife I said hello.”

John let go of Desmond’s jacket and stumbled back, bracing himself against the railing. Desmond started to say something else but abruptly shut his mouth, pressing a finger to his lips. John watched as Desmond silently bid him farewell with a salute and a wink, slinking back into the ballroom. 

Driven by a protective urge, John rushed after him in search of Zari.

* * *

Couples formed a chain across the dance floor in a rectangular formation, preparing to dance the quadrille. Zari’s feet seemed to move on their own accord, already familiar with steps. She never missed a beat even when she’d spied John with an attractive man outside on the terrace, standing much too close for her liking. 

Eventually when it was time to switch partners with Behrad, instead of a stranger Zari ironically found herself face to face with John.

“Since when do you dance?” Zari questioned, pressing her palm against John’s as they stepped forward and backward in time with the music. 

“I usually don’t,” John replied, surprisingly fluid on his feet. “But I’ve learned not to question all the new knowledge crammed in my head.”

Zari nodded, her curiosity getting the better of her when she blurted out, “Who was that man?” Jealousy crept into her tone despite her efforts to sound casual. “The one you were speaking with outside.”

John avoided her scrutiny while they circled each other. “His name’s Desmond.”

“Old friend? You two looked pretty close from where I was standing.”

“We used to be. Why do you ask?”

Zari shrugged. “No reason. Just curious.” Before she could think better of it, she added, “He seemed quite taken with you.”

John met Zari’s gaze as he lifted her by the waist and spun her in sync with the other couples, giving her a reassuring smile when he set her back down. “I was just gathering intel, is all. No need to be jealous.”

“ _I’m not jealous_ ,” Zari protested a little too loudly, earning quizzical looks from their neighbors that made her blush. “I mean, I’m just saying...if it was something more than what you’re admitting, I wouldn’t mind. It’s not like we’re really _exclusive_ or anything.”

John nodded tersely, his expression unreadable. “Duly noted.”

Zari ignored his reaction. “So, do you like this Desmond?”

“I did in the other world. He was handsome, kind, charming.” John paused and came to a standstill, looking directly at Zari. “But he’s not the one I’m interested in.”

Zari was so taken aback by his bold confession that she didn’t realize the music had stopped and the other couples had fled the dance floor, leaving her and John alone. She blamed the warmth of the ballroom for the rising flush igniting her skin. “Well, whoever they are...they’re lucky,” she whispered.

The string quartet started playing a romantic waltz and the mood in the room changed drastically. A magnetic force seemed to draw Zari and John together as they wordlessly approached each other. John gently clasped Zari’s hand and pulled her against him by her waist, her other hand settling on his shoulder. Neither recalled knowing how to waltz, but were enjoying their closeness too much to care. They moved with expert ease across the dancefloor, lost in each other’s eyes as their mission for tonight was long forgotten. 

It became difficult for Zari to focus under the weight of John’s stare, his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. Their bodies were much closer than what was probably considered appropriate.

Zari sighed in content and leaned her head on John’s shoulder. “I’m impressed with your dancing skills. We should do this more often.”

John chuckled softly, murmuring in her ear, “I’m skilled in _far_ more than just dancing, luv.”

A wave of desire burned through Zari as quickly as wildfire. “I don’t doubt it,” she whispered, her hot breath against John’s neck sending goosebumps prickling along his flesh. 

“It’s getting late,” John said, his voice strained as his fingers dug into the fabric of Zari’s gown. He separated from her slightly to meet her gaze, his eyes wide with need. “We can go home...if you like.”

Zari nodded without hesitation, her throat dry as she managed a weak, “Please.” 

* * *

It was impossible to tell who started it. The carriage was barely halfway down the street when suddenly John’s hands were on Zari as she surged forward and met his willing mouth with a searing kiss.

The tone of this kiss was much different than this morning, now frantic and overwhelmed with lust. Zari climbed onto John’s lap without breaking the kiss, clutching at his waistcoat while he gripped her thigh through her dress. The bumpy carriage ride was inconvenient at first but offered pleasurable friction for the rocking of their bodies. 

In the span of a single day, the tension between them had escalated from a flirtatious haircut, an evening of dancing and longing glances, into _this._

John’s mouth migrated to Zari’s neck as she squirmed in his lap, making him audibly curse. She let out an embarrassing whimper when his teeth grazed her collarbone, shifting as close to him as she possibly could for more contact. John started to tug at the front of her gown when she stopped him.

“Don’t you _dare_ ruin this dress,” Zari told him wryly, pressing his hands harder against her chest.

“Shut up,” John growled, proceeding to unfasten her bodice in one swift motion. The action shot pleasure straight to her throbbing center. 

Dizzy from her mounting desire, their lips collided again in another bruising kiss. John pressed fiery magic into Zari’s skin with the pressure of his fingertips, leaving the breath of smoldering flames on her lips. His hand remained fixed on her thigh while the other roamed dangerously close to her backside. Zari sank her teeth into John’s bottom lip and shoved her hand between them to knead his groin, relishing in the throaty moan he emitted. His hips thrusted involuntarily, causing them both to groan into each other’s mouths.

Desperate for air, Zari slowly released John’s lip from between her teeth, maintaining eye contact as their mouths separated. They remained still for a moment watching each other, chests heaving, eyes widened, and lips parted. John appeared just as dumbstruck as Zari felt. He regarded her with unabashed lust and wonder, and perhaps a hint of fear. But she found something almost guarded in his expression, something deeper and unexplainable.

Zari offered a gentle smile, tenderly cupping John’s face and stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. “Hey,” she whispered, her free hand toying with the hair at the back of his neck. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Depends what it is,” John replied, leaning into her touch.

“I lied earlier,” Zari murmured, planting a kiss to John’s temple, trailing her mouth near his ear. “I was _very_ jealous.”

John laughed heartily. “So was I,” he admitted before crashing his mouth against Zari’s once more, greedily drinking from her lips like he was stealing the breath from her lungs. Zari responded just as eagerly, clutching his strong shoulders as she hungrily tasted him. Her heart skipped a beat when John’s fingers dipped into her corset and over the swell of her breast, his other hand disappearing up her gown and brushing where she craved his attention the most…

Until the carriage came to an abrupt halt, sending Zari tumbling off John’s lap, her head bouncing off the other seat. She was so startled that she laid sprawled out on the carriage floor, her layers of skirts covering her like a weighted blanket. John cursed loudly at their driver and reached for Zari, who barely registered Chas’s muffled apology outside the carriage.

“Sorry about that!” Chas told them, then added dubiously, “Uh, I don’t want to alarm you but....the police are parked in front of the house.”  
  



	9. Of Mortals That Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend @phoebemaybe. I hope you enjoy your belated birthday present :)
> 
> Warning: Smut ahead

**_“Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,_ **

**_Who is already sick and pale with grief.”_ **

**_\- Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene II)_ **

Once they readjusted their hair and clothing back to normal, John and Zari were barely three steps inside the house when they were bombarded with a stream of questions, most of which inquired by a distraught young woman John was positive he had never seen before. 

“Have either of you seen my sister tonight?” the woman demanded hysterically. She wore an oversized coat over a nightgown and her strawberry blonde curls were tucked into a bonnet, an indication that she’d left her home in a hurry. “When was the last time you saw her?”

John could barely process what was happening due to the alcohol in his system and the fact that it was well past one in the morning. He had no idea who this woman was referring to until Mrs. Duncan explained, “Milord, milady, this is Gemma Cole. I didnae ken Miss Catherine had a sister until tonight.”

Zari perked up at the mention of her handmaid. “I just saw Catherine this afternoon before we left for the ball. Why? Did something happen?”

“I believe my sister has gone missing,” Gemma told her, struggling to stifle her tears. “She...she was supposed to visit her son tonight at my flat, but she never arrived. I’m afraid something terrible has happened to her. I _told_ Cathy not to wander around Whitechapel at night!”

John and Zari exchanged uneasy glances as Gemma collapsed on the nearby loveseat in a fit of sobs. Nobody wanted to address what they were likely all thinking. _A missing young woman. In Whitechapel. With a serial killer on the loose._

John eyed the two policemen standing in the parlor with suspicion as they inspected the furniture. “What are they doing here?”

Mrs. Duncan sighed deeply. The poor housekeeper was obviously exhausted. “I was gone to the market when Miss Catherine disappeared, so they are contemplating the possibility of a home invasion.”

“Well, that’s a load of rubbish,” John said, gesturing around them at the pristine furnishings. Everything was polished to perfection, even the brass handle on the front door. “No sign of a struggle, no forced entry. Nothing out of the ordinary here.” 

“I dinnae disagree, milord,” Mrs. Duncan replied. “We would know if there was an intruder. I took every magical precaution to ensure this estate remained an impenetrable fortress. If someone had really tried to break in, they would be a pile of ash on the doorstep.”

Zari’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

John shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t think she is, luv.”

Zari closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, _one_ problem at a time. Why are the police here instead of out searching for Catherine?”

“I asked them the same thing,” Gemma replied bitterly, shooting an icy glare in the direction of the policemen. “Then the tall one asked if my sister was a harlot, that perhaps that was why she was out late in Whitechapel. Can you believe that?”

“Are you serious?” Zari asked, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Just because a woman goes out at night, they automatically assume she’s…God, that’s the _stupidest_ thing I’ve ever heard.”

“With all due respect, madam,” said the taller policeman, intruding on their conversation along with his stout partner. John immediately disliked the two men, not only because they were cops but for how they regarded Zari as if she were less than them. “We must consider all possibilities for these sorts of matters. But we don’t expect you to understand, of course.”

Zari tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

“Mrs. Constantine, I assure you we did not mean to offend,” the shorter policeman told her, then turned to John. “I’m sure your husband here can explain it for you.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” John snapped, seconds away from throwing the policemen out before he remembered they could arrest him. “She’s perfectly competent on her own.”

The policeman narrowed his eyes at John, sizing him up for a moment before chuckling lightly. “What a progressive mind you have, Mr. Constantine.” He glanced briefly at his partner and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m afraid nothing more can be done for your wife’s maid tonight. Scotland Yard will send a search party out in the morning.”

“But what about my sister?” Gemma demanded, desperately clinging onto one of the policemen’s coats before they could turn to leave. “ _Please_. What if she needs help?”

But the policemen ignored Gemma’s pleas and bid the household goodbye, escorted out the door by Mrs. Duncan. The housekeeper appeared ready to push the men off the doorstep. Zari took Gemma in her arms to prevent her from running after them, even as their carriage clattered away into the moonless night.

John gave the policemen the middle finger as they drove off. “Useless pricks,” he muttered before promptly slamming the door.

“Well, that was a massive waste of time,” Zari said, throwing her hands up in frustration. “Anybody else have any ideas? Because I’m not sitting here waiting for the police to do something.”

Admittedly, John didn’t share the same concern about Catherine as everyone else in the room. He hardly even knew the girl, first and foremost, and there were about seven other problems on his mind at the moment. Of course there was also the persistent reminder of his almost-shag with Zari in the carriage, which just _had_ to be interrupted, much to John’s great annoyance. 

Tracking down a missing person was the last thing John wanted to deal with right now. Not when he was so mentally weary from tonight’s events, yet so physically aware of Zari’s flushed body standing so close to him. The taste of her lips still lingered on John’s tongue. The memory of her touch sent a wave of chills coursing over his skin. In the light, he was able to see the faint marks created by his mouth barely visible along Zari’s exposed neck and collarbone.

Rarely did John feel such a strong urge to help another person when their interests didn’t reflect his own. But if finding Catherine was important to Zari, then he was willing to do everything in his power to help. Even if that meant tempering his desire for the time being.

“It’s a long shot, but I may have an idea,” John suggested, placing a tentative hand on Gemma’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t happen to have something of your sister’s with you now, would you luv?”

Gemma sniffled and removed the bonnet from her head, releasing a waterfall of reddish-blonde ringlets. “This once belonged to Cathy. But why do you need a bonnet, Mr. Constantine?”

“I’m gonna use it to track your sister.” John started to fumble through his jacket pockets for his Zippo lighter when he remembered he’d dropped it off the terrace at the ball. “ _Bollocks_. Anyone got a light?”

* * *

The street lamps lighting up London’s East End were dull in comparison to the vibrant will-o’-the-wisp that led John, Zari, and Chas on a swift pursuit toward wherever Catherine hopefully awaited them.

Whitechapel was a ghost town at this hour. The only bustle of activity came from the pubs and brothels, where slurred drinking songs and boisterous laughter resonated from their open doors. Drunken patrons stumbled along the sidewalks. Street dwellers and women of the night lurked in the shadowy alleyways in search of customers. The neighborhood reeked of piss, booze, and sin. 

As the carriage raced down the cobblestone road, the icy wind made John’s eyes water as he stuck his head out the window, keeping his eye on the wisp guiding them through the night. The tiny ball of light burned brighter as it darted along the street in a zigzag motion, indicating it was nearing its target. It was also gaining speed.

John beat his fist against the side of the carriage with impatience. “ _Don’t lose that wisp, Chas!”_

“Going as fast as I can, boss!” Chas replied, urging the horses to gallop faster with a crack of his whip. The carriage careened around a corner so fast that they were dangerously close to tipping over. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Zari groaned from inside the carriage.

John ducked his head back inside to find Zari hunched over with her head between her knees. “We’re almost there, luv,” he promised, rubbing her back. 

Zari leaned upright again and regarded John with apprehension. “John, I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Why do you say that?” John asked.

“I don’t know...I can’t help but feel this is my fault,” Zari admitted, running her hands over her face. The white gloves she still wore came away smudged with makeup, yet her gown and hair remained flawless despite what had transpired on the very seat they were sitting on. “If I hadn’t told Catherine to go visit her son tonight, she wouldn’t…” She exhaled a shaky breath, unable to finish her sentence. 

“Hey, we don’t know that,” John said, taking Zari’s hands and urging her to look at him. Even in the dimly lit carriage, he could see her eyes were glassy with tears. “The will-o’-the-wisp is working, innit? I take that as a good sign. We’ll find her, Zari.” 

What John failed to disclose was the wisp could find someone regardless if they were dead or alive, but it didn’t feel right to mention this.

Suddenly the will-o’-the-wisp took a sharp turn down an alley beside the Princess Alice Pub, a four story building located at the street corner just ahead. Chas jerked the carriage to an abrupt stop, allowing John and Zari to jump out and follow the wisp before they lost sight of it. John kept a firm grip on Zari’s hand as they crossed the street and passed a group of smelly drunks gathered outside the pub, who leered at their expensive evening attire with disdain. They ignored the utterly smashed strangers and approached the dark alley with caution. Shining like a beacon at the very end of the alleyway was the wisp.

But as they proceeded toward the ball of light, the wisp winked out of existence and shrouded John and Zari in complete blackness. Zari let out a tiny gasp and grasped John’s bicep while he reached for her at the same time. Murmuring softly under his breath, John ignited a fireball in his hand. 

That’s when they spotted the body. 

A frail blonde woman was sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood, her body severely beaten and butchered. Her chest cavity was empty where her heart should have been and a gaping hole was carved into her abdomen. John had to avert his gaze.

Even though her face was mutilated nearly beyond recognition, the plain brown dress Catherine always wore was easy to identify.

Zari clapped her hands over her mouth and screamed. John quickly extinguished the fire in his hand before she could get a proper look at the horrific scene and gently took her in his arms, tucking her face in his shoulder. But it was too late; she had glimpsed enough to know whose body they had discovered. 

John just regretted bringing Zari along with him, letting her witness something so gruesome and sickening. Holding the back of her head and stroking her hair, he repeatedly whispered, _I’m sorry, luv. I’m so sorry._

He felt his heart shatter and pierce him like shards of broken glass as Zari released a muffled, anguished sob into his shoulder.

* * *

Zari’s head felt submerged underwater. 

She barely registered the sound of her own wretched sobs, of John’s countless apologies in her ear. Her body seemed separate from her consciousness as John guided her back to the carriage and wrapped a fur blanket around her shoulders. She’s vaguely aware of Chas calling for help, followed by the police arriving at the scene shortly after and Catherine was declared another victim of Jack the Ripper. 

Zari didn’t know why she didn’t simply tell the police that the man responsible for this atrocity was right here in Whitechapel, masquerading as a doctor who swore an oath to do no harm. But the words would not come, stuck in Zari’s throat like a hard knot. Instead she, John, and Chas managed to avoid being interviewed by the police and slipped away unnoticed. 

The ride back to the Constantine Estate was a blur. Zari’s tear-filled vision grew hazy as exhaustion addled her brain. The lamp posts appeared to sway like trees caught in the wind, the streaks of light reflecting off the cobblestones shining like silver. Moonlight occasionally peeked through the clouds, gleaming onto the surface of the murky Thames. If the night hadn’t ended so tragically, it would have been beautiful.

Gemma was sitting on the doorstep with her face buried in her hands when they pulled up to the house. A policeman and a detective were conversing with Mrs. Duncan, who was visibly shaken. Judging by Gemma’s distressed state, she already knew what befell her beloved sister.

Zari couldn’t bear facing Gemma, feeling as if she carried a share of the blame for Catherine’s death. She would be alive right now if Zari had simply told her to wait and visit her son in the morning, when it would be safer to do so. Now, Thomas was an orphan and Gemma would have to learn to cope with the loss of a sister.

When the police finally left at a quarter past three, Zari was emotionally and physically drained. She felt like she could breathe again when she stripped out of her evening gown and climbed into bed. Sleep did not come to her, yet she accepted John’s silent invitation to hold her. The sound of his snores lulled Zari into a temporary sense of peace, acting as a soothing balm to the guilt slowly gnawing at her from the inside. 

Later that morning, Catherine’s name was plastered on every major newspaper publication in London. The true extent of the murder was recorded in great detail, reading almost like a passage from a gothic horror novel rather than an actual crime. It was evident that rival publications were trying to outdo one another, vying for the biggest shock factor to sell more papers. 

It was at the breakfast table, reading the morning newspaper alongside John, that Zari was possessed with a newfound determination. She decided then that she would not let her guilt and grief consume her until she was a vacant shell. As an influencer, Zari had learned early on not to allow tragedies to destroy her. 

Zari thought about what John said the last time she’d proposed taking down the Ripper: _It’s not our problem to solve_. That may have been true then, but that was before he murdered Catherine. 

History be damned. Jack the Ripper’s reign of terror was about to be cut short. If Zari and John were going to be trapped in this time period awhile, the least she could do was stop a serial killer. 

As John stood to leave for the day, seemingly unfazed by last night, he surprised Zari by pulling her toward him for a chaste kiss. It was sweet and oddly intimate, like they practiced this sort of domesticity every morning. They both pulled away and froze with widened eyes, as if they were both wondering when this had become so natural.

Seeing the way John looked at her, Zari realized this man would do everything in his power to stop her from putting her life at risk. If she was really going to help bring Jack the Ripper’s murder spree to an end, John couldn’t know. The thought of keeping this from him pained her.

But wouldn’t John Constantine do the same thing if he were in Zari’s shoes?

* * *

October came and went without so much as a petty burglary being reported in the press. London seemed to come to a standstill after the latest Jack the Ripper murder, waiting for another dead victim to appear that never came. The lack of activity set the entire city on edge.

November blew in and presented itself in the most extreme of conditions. Unseasonable weather chilled the air, bringing an onslaught of frost during nighttime hours. The nights were long and bitterly cold and the days were short and breezy. John insisted these atmospheric anomalies indicated a temporal disturbance or perhaps demonic activity. He became more engrossed in this investigation.

Not long after Catherine’s death in late September, the emergence of the Whitechapel Watch made its mark on the city. Flyers of the secret society dedicated to keeping the East End neighborhood safe were soon plastered all over London. Zari paid no mind to them, assuming it was the work of obsessed Jack the Ripper fanatics. 

Life continued on. John found his sense of stability in his work, his spells, and his blossoming relationship with Zari. As for Zari, she sought normalcy again with afternoon tea with her ladies, handling her business while assisting John whenever she could with his experimental rituals, and spending the night in his arms. 

Their routine was comforting, eclipsing everything they once knew. Each day it became increasingly difficult to remember they were trying to _escape_ this timeline, not live in it.

The longer they stayed here, the more their Victorian personas took over. 

Not that Zari noticed, of course. She was a woman on a mission.

It was mid-afternoon in late November when Zari found herself sitting at her usual table at the Princess Alice Pub, where she frequented twice a week. Normally, Zari wouldn’t be caught dead in a pub, but she wasn’t here to drown her sorrows in booze like the rest of its customers. But according to Ava, a self-proclaimed expert on all things Jack the Ripper, the Princess Alice was regularly visited by prostitutes in the East End and was a known haunt of one of the prime suspects. Some patrons claimed they knew his victims, while others even said they once saw Leather Apron himself in the pub. Zari figured it was a decent place to start her investigation.

First of all, Zari was a people person. She was naturally adept at getting people to talk, even when they were reluctant to do so. Asking the right questions and bringing forth enough charm did wonders. 

The first step in getting the people of London’s East End to trust her: _pretend to be one of them._ Zari was well aware she would immediately be distrusted if she strode into the pub dressed as an established lady. Luckily, Catherine had left behind some of her plain dresses and hats at the house that Zari took the liberty of borrowing. With a bit of mending, they fit like a glove. It was easy for Zari to conceal her disguise from John and Mrs. Duncan underneath a heavy cloak, telling them she was off to visit one of her ladies.

The only person aware of Zari’s deception was Chas, who she entrusted to drive her to and from Whitechapel. The gentle giant seemed trustworthy enough, and with a bit of persuasion and offering to raise his pay, he was fairly easy to convince. Plus Chas was thrilled when Zari assured him she would absolve his gambling debt with Mrs. Duncan. 

Today Zari was meeting at the pub with Ava, who frequently updated her with various theories regarding the Ripper’s whereabouts. Apparently she gathered her intel from members of the secretive Whitechapel Watch and Mick Rory, a local thief with a ton of influence among the East End’s working class and slums. Zari decided to wait to tell Ava about the Ripper’s true identity, needing to know if the doppelganger could be trusted.

As she scrawled in her journal, which contained entries of information regarding the Ripper’s case and his life as Dr. White, Zari jumped when the chair across from her scraped across the rough floor. She accidentally bore down too hard on the paper with her fountain pen, smearing the sentence she was writing with ink. Sighing in frustration, Zari expected to find Ava sitting across from her but was sorely mistaken.

John reclined in the chair with a smirk, holding a lit cigarette between his teeth and a glass of whisky in his hand. He fit right in with the patrons of the Princess Alice Pub—rugged, drunk, and damaged. John sat there sipping his drink in silence with his brow raised expectantly, as if he were waiting for Zari to explain herself. But he also didn’t seem surprised. Almost like he knew what she was doing all along.

Zari stared at him right back, unflinching under his gaze. She calmly shut her journal and crossed her arms over the table, tapping her fingers against her elbow. “What are you doing here, John?”

“Came for a drink,” John replied, blowing a puff of smoke through his lips. “But I reckon that’s not why you’re here.”

“Cut the crap already,” Zari snapped. “How did you know I was here?”

“I should have warned you Chas can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

Zari sucked in a sharp breath. “ _Damn it, Chas_ ,” she muttered. 

John downed the rest of his whisky and forcefully set the glass down on the table. “Now, what I wanna know is _why_ you come here twice a week.”

“This is where I meet Ava,” Zari partially told the truth. 

“On this side of town?” John wasn’t convinced. “A pub’s not exactly your scene, innit?”

Zari leaned forward. “Okay. _My turn_ to ask a question. You never told me what you’re really doing here. Did you follow me?”

John laughed. “I’ve _been_ following you, luv.”

“So you’ve known I’ve been coming here this whole time?”

“Well, you weren’t being very discreet.”

“Why haven’t you stopped me then?” Zari asked.

“To be honest, I was curious how this would play out,” John replied with a shrug. “But now I’m bored, decided to pop in and confront you. Wasn’t quite expecting to find you in a dingy pub dressed as a character straight out of Les Misérables.”

Zari adjusted the wool hat on her head self-consciously. “Wow, you’re really taking the _controlling husband_ role seriously,” she told him dryly.

John sighed. “I’m just worried about you, luv. You haven’t been the same since—”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Zari hissed. “You know I don’t like to talk about...that night.”

“Then why don’t you instead tell me what you’ve been up to the last two months?”

Zari let out a cold, halfhearted laugh and abruptly stood from her chair, collecting her journal and leaving a tip for John’s drink. “You know what? We’re not doing this here. I’m going home.”

As she made her way toward the door, she was caught off guard when a beefy hand reached out and roughly grabbed her arm. Instead of John, it was a filthy man who reeked of liquor. 

“How much do I pay for a night with you?” the man slurred, sliding his hand down Zari’s arm.

Zari cringed in disgust. “I’m not for sale,” she snapped, swinging her hand and delivering a harsh slap across the man’s face. The sound reverberated throughout the pub, attracting the attention of every customer.

Instead of backing off, to Zari’s horror the man grinned and yanked her toward him to pat her on the ass. “Ah, you’re a rough lass, I see.”

Zari stood frozen in shock even when John stormed up to the man, his eyes blazing with fury. She was convinced John was going to kill this man right in the middle of the pub as he grabbed him by the lapels of his tattered coat and growled, “ _She’s not for fucking sale._ ”

John proceeded to punch the man in the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack, and sent him flying across a nearby table. Glasses shattered and the table collapsed under the man’s weight, causing everyone in the pub to shout out in shock.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

* * *

Long story short, the owner of the Princess Alice Pub banned Zari and John for life.

Needless to say, it was a very awkward and tense carriage ride back to the house. As soon as they arrived, Zari made an immediate beeline upstairs to the bedroom, ignoring John’s attempts to apologize for what happened at the pub. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about it.

Not only was she sexually harassed in public, but John indirectly ruined the best chance Zari had of finding out the Ripper’s whereabouts by getting her banned from the place he’s supposedly been spotted. Honestly, Zari was more angry about this than at the man who’d groped her. Though she was a little bit glad John had broken his nose.

Much to her annoyance, as soon as Zari closed the bedroom door behind her and locked it, John managed to unlock it using some sort of incantation and followed her inside. She was half tempted to throw the candelabra at him again, which permanently resided on the mantle. 

“Are we gonna talk about it?” John asked, slamming the door behind him.

Zari slumped down on the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest, avoiding John’s gaze. “Nope.”

John sat down beside her, running a hand over his face. “Look, luv, I’m sorry that wanker at the pub put his hands on you. I should have been there sooner…”

“I’m not mad about the guy at the pub, John!” Zari blurted out, using her hat to smack John on the arm. 

“Then what’s wrong?” John asked tentatively.

Zari sighed in defeat. Hiding the truth from him was exhausting; she didn’t want to do it anymore. “I have a confession. But you’re not gonna like it.”

John gave her an apprehensive look. “What is it?”

“Well…” Zari nervously twisted her hat with her hands. “Ever since Catherine’s death, I’ve _kinda_ been trying to track down Jack the Ripper.”

“You _what?"_

“Just hear me out, John…”

John stood from the sofa and started pacing before the fireplace, frantically scrubbing his hand through his hair. “I remember us talking about it awhile back, but I didn’t think you were _actually_ serious. Have you gone _mad?"_

“I know it sounds crazy, but _listen to me,_ ” Zari pleaded, standing to meet John’s gaze. “When Catherine died, I saw how devastated Gemma was. It reminded me of how I felt when I lost Behrad. I may not have been able to save my baby brother...but maybe I can help get justice for Catherine’s family.” 

“Zari, you barely knew this woman!” John told her. “We have enough to worry about right now. Not only are we trapped in another time period with no way home, but this reality is overrun by demonic activity and doppelgangers of our friends that may or may not be trying to kill us. Doesn’t _that_ deserve our attention?”

Zari recoiled in disbelief. “Why can’t I do this _one_ thing for someone to make myself feel like what I’m doing is worth a damn?” 

“What you’re doing _does_ matter,” John countered.

“Does it though?” Zari fired back. “What good am I _really_ doing? I’m not deaf, John. I hear what people say about me behind my back. Everyone would much prefer if I’d just keep my opinions to myself and behave like the good little wife I’m supposed to be. I’m sure that’s what your friends Lord Raymond and Nathaniel tell you, right?”

“Those tossers aren’t my friends,” John sneered. “They’re nothing but mindless copies of the real Ray and Nate who I’m forced to become acquainted with when _you_ drag me to all these bloody social events.”

Zari rolled her eyes. “If you really hate them so much, then why do you keep coming with me?”

“Well it’s like you said, we wouldn’t want to cause a _scandal,_ would we?” John retorted wryly. “Blasted Victorian customs are exhausting.”

“Stop acting like you give a damn, then.”

“About what other people think, or about _you?”_

Zari sighed, losing her patience. “John, I’m gonna do this whether you like it or not.”

“Oh yeah?” John said, his brow raised. “How are you gonna do that, eh? Please, _enlighten me.”_

“I’m not going into this blind, if that’s what you think,” Zari told him, placing her hands on her hips. “I know what I’m getting myself into and I have a plan. Jack the Ripper targeted prostitutes, right? Well, what if I—“

John interrupted her. “No. _Absolutely_ not.”

“ _John,_ ” Zari implored. “What better way to lure him out than offer him an attractive target?”

“Now you just sound like a superficial git,” John replied, growing exasperated. “I said _no.”_

Zari huffed in frustration. “John, this is our best chance of catching that bastard. He murdered an _innocent single mother._ Catherine deserves justice! My looks are the only thing worth any value in this godforsaken sexist time period, so why can’t I use them to our advantage?”

John shook his head incredulously. “You’re daft if you think I’m gonna let you go out there pretending to be a _bloody whore_ and risk getting yourself chopped to bits.”

“I’m sorry, _let me?”_ Zari scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. “You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do. We may be married in this reality, but I’m not _actually_ your wife.”

Hurt briefly flashed across John’s face before it was replaced by anger. “You can fight all you like, but you can’t bat your eyes or flirt to convince me to let you give yourself up as bait to that maniac. That won’t work on me. We will figure out another way to catch him.”

Zari blinked. “ _We?”_

“Yes, _we_ ,” John said decidedly. “Since you’re so hellbent on doing this, I’ll humor you. You wanna catch Jack the bloody Ripper? Fine. But we’re doing it _my way.”_

Dissatisfied, Zari hissed, “Go to hell, John.”

John’s mouth twisted into a sneer. “ _Ladies first._ ”

As Zari growled and turned to storm off, she was stopped when John gently took her by the arm. “ _What, John?"_ she snapped, wrenching her arm away.

“If you do this on your own, Zari,” John warned, his voice low as he leaned close to emphasize his point. “You can guarantee I won’t stick around long enough to see you get yourself killed.”

Zari matched his threatening tone. “ _Good_. I can take care of myself.”

John laughed. “Is that right?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Zari demanded. 

“Who’s the one who had to save your arse from that bloody pervert at the pub?” 

“I never _asked_ for your help!” 

“You sure looked like you needed it, sweetheart,” John told her mockingly.

Zari shot him a venomous glare. “I don’t need you.”

John stepped closer to her. “Well, I don’t need you either.”

“Do you really mean that?” Zari challenged him.

They may have been saying they didn’t need each other, but their eyes and body language told a very different story. Their chests were heaving with anger as they stood nearly face to face, taunting each other with their eyes. Before either of them could stop themselves, John seized Zari by the waist while she took his face in her hands, their lips clashing together in a heated frenzy. Zari let out an involuntary groan as their teeth collided roughly, but relished in the sensation of John soothing her mouth with his tongue. But when she started to fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, John grabbed her shoulders and pushed away.

“Zari,” John gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Have you considered how I would feel if something happened to you?”

Zari shook her head, still dazed from their kiss. “No. How would you feel?”

John pressed another searing kiss to Zari’s mouth before he whispered, “I think it would ruin me.”

“Good,” Zari said, pressing her hand to John's chest and pushing him backward until his ass hit the desk. “Did I ever tell you how much I love the sight of you in a waistcoat?”

John smirked and spun them around, lifting Zari onto the desk. She removed the cloak she was wearing, revealing a simple yet lovely red gown Catherine had given her with a low cut neckline that she was fully aware drove John crazy. He’s unashamed as his gaze darkened and drifted downward. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Zari blushed, lowering her voice as she added breathlessly, “I wore this for you.”

John’s eyes attentively scanned her figure, licking his lips in anticipation of what was to come. He wove a firm hand around Zari’s waist, tugging her closer. The way John tilted his head while smiling softly made Zari’s heart flutter. He leaned forward and sought the side of her face with his mouth, murmuring, “ _Absolutely beautiful._ ” 

Zari bit back a moan as John stepped between her legs, wrapping his hands around her thighs as their bodies pressed together. The motion knocked the desk against the wall behind them. “We have to be quiet. Mrs. Duncan is just down the hall.”

“Technically we _are_ married,” John whispered against Zari’s neck before planting a kiss on her pulse point. “So I don’t think she’ll mind.”

“Well, since we’re married,” Zari teased, lifting John’s head so she could meet his smoldering gaze. “I don’t expect you to be gentle, Mr. Constantine.”

John didn’t hesitate in fulfilling Zari’s request. He coveted her lips and kissed her hungrily, wasting no time to slip his tongue into her mouth, earning a soft sigh of encouragement. His hands glided across Zari’s jawline and down her neck, down her arms and curves of her waist. Zari guided John’s fingers to the front of her bodice, helping him unfasten it and remove her gown. Left in her corset and undergarments, John was able to explore her bare skin.

Every touch was thoughtful and deliberate as John’s hands moved over every bit of Zari’s skin within range, the skin on skin contact electrifying her. Zari tugged anxiously at his waistcoat and shirt and pushed them both off his shoulders, exposing his bare chest. Curious hands traced his protruding collarbone, his warm chest, and the contours of his torso. Her fingers followed the patterns of his intricate tattoos, occasionally meeting scarred flesh. John shivered under Zari’s touch and kissed her with more vigor, urging her along.

As Zari unlaced her corset, John took the liberty of rolling her stockings down her legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses all the way down to her ankles. Now with only the thin fabric of Zari’s satin chemise between them, John paused to take in the sight of her, flushed and breathless with her hair askew and lipstick smudged. He grabbed onto Zari’s wrists, making her gasp when he bestowed a tender kiss to the back of each hand, his eyes never leaving hers. 

Their lips met again with eagerness, their kisses filled with a deep yearning. John’s heated touch drove Zari mad with need, brushing his hands down her ribcage and over her breasts. She arched her back as he massaged her, desperate to feel more friction. 

“What am I to you?” John asked huskily, moving his head to plant kisses along Zari’s throat.

Zari feigned innocence, trying to ignore John’s erection pressing against her thigh. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

John bit down on Zari’s neck, causing her to hiss. “Yes, you do.”

Zari laughed breathily. “What do you want me to say? That you’re my boyfriend?”

“Is that it?” One of John’s hands disappeared up her chemise, causing her to squirm.

“ _John_ ,” Zari pleaded with an unconcealed ache in her tone, purposely ignoring his question. “ _I need you_.” 

Zari’s chemise was promptly discarded across the room and John’s trousers were swiftly unbuttoned and kicked away out of sight. Now completely bare, Zari spread her legs invitingly as John proceeded to kiss her slowly and ardently, pulling her as close as possible. Their limbs tangled together and hands boldly explored bare skin, filling the room with echoes of passion. The desk continued to bump against the wall, but neither paid no mind. 

The two of them never took their eyes off each other as John moved to enter her. Zari gasped at the sensation of being joined with him like this after so long, fervently meeting his quickening pace. She leaned her head back against the wall as he thrusted faster, his rhythm steady yet relentless. True to his word, John was not gentle. Their heavy breaths and groans of ecstasy filled the room, likely carrying throughout the house. Zari desperately clung to John, digging her nails into his broad shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. John’s uttering of her name was enough to finally send her over the edge.

They continued to make love into the night, taking the time to savor each other and offer comfort with pleasure, connecting more than they have during the entire time they’ve been stranded in 1888.

Afterward Zari found herself wrapped in John’s warm embrace in their bed, tangled in the sheets while lying half on top of him. She was overcome with drowsiness and bliss, feeling utterly weightless. Her cheek was pressed against John’s clavicle, his breath hitting her hair and tickling her nose. One arm was draped around Zari’s waist while his opposite hand rested between her shoulder blades, drawing lazy circles across the knobs of her spine. For a while they basked in each other’s warmth, enjoying the post-sex euphoria that befell them. 

When Zari raised her head to look at John, her heart ached at the small smile he gave her, his usually intense eyes the softest she had ever seen them. He released a contented sigh and brought their foreheads together, presenting her mouth with the tenderest of kisses.

“Can I tell you something?” John whispered. When Zari nodded, he said, “I know we’re pretending to be _whatever we are_ but....I’m not pretending anymore.”

Zari swallowed the unknown emotion tightening in her throat. “I’m not either."  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr (timelordstark) if anyone wants to leave me a comment or you can comment below!


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